i6<r  50 . 


ct-yc/ 

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CUBISTS 

AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


GLEIZES 
Man  on  Balcony 


Cubists  and 
Post-Impressionism 


BY 

ARTHUR  JEROME  EDDY 

Author  of  “Delight,  the  Soul  of  Art,”  “Recollections  and  Impres¬ 
sions  of  James  A.  McNeill  Whistler,”  etc. 


With  Twenty-three  Reproductions  in  Color  of 
Cubist  and  Post-Impressionist  Paintings, 
and  Forty-six  Half-Tone 
Illustrations 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 

1914 


Copyright 

A.  C.  McCIurg  &  Co 
1914 


Published  March,  1914 


W.  F.  HALL  PRINTING  COMPANY,  CHICAGO 


TO  THAT  SPIRIT 

the  heating  of  whose  restless  wings 
is  heard  in  every  land 


CONTENTS 


Chapter  Page 

I.  A  Sensation .  i 

II.  Post-Impressionism . 11 

III.  Les  Fauves . 33 

IV.  A  Futile  Protest . 50 

V.  What  is  Cubism? . 60 

VI.  The  Theory  of  Cubism . go 

VII.  The  New  Art  in  Munich . no 

VIII.  Color  Music . 140 

IX.  Esoragoto . 147 

X.  Ugliness . 154 

XI.  Futurism . 164 

XII.  Virile-Impressionism . igi 

XIII.  Sculpture . 202 

XIV.  In  Conclusion . 207 

Appendix  I.  Exhibitions  at  291  Fifth  Avenue  •  •  •  •  2 1 X 

Appendix  II.  Two  Comments  . . 214 

Bibliography . 223 

Index . 239 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Balla,  Dog  and  person  in  movement  .  .  . 

Bechtejeff,  Fight  of  the  Amazons  .  .  . 

Bloch)  Summer  night . 

The  duel . 

Boccioni,  Head,  houses,  light . 

Spiral  expansion  of  muscles  in  action 

Brancusi,  M’lle  Poganey . 

Cardoza,  Sousa,  Marine . 

Leap  of  the  rabbit . 

Stronghold . 

Cezanne,  Portrait  of  self . 

Village  street . 

Still  life . 

Chabaud,  The  laborer . 

Cemetery  gates  . 

Charmy,  Landscape . 

Derain,  Forest  at  Martigues . 

Dove,  Based  on  leaf  forms  and  spaces  .  . 

Duchamp,  Chess  players . 

King  and  queen . 

Erbsloh,  Young  woman . 

Gauguin,  Portrait  of  self . 

Farmyard  . 

Scene  in  Tahiti . 

Girieud,  Woman  seated  . 

Gleizes,  Man  on  balcony . 

Original  drawing  for  man  on  balcony 

Gris,  Still  life . 

Herbin,  Landscape  . 

Still  life . 

Jawlensky,  Head  of  a  girl . 

Kandinsky,  Village  street  . 

Landscape  with  two  poplars  .... 

Improvisation  No.  29 . 

Improvisation  No.  30 . 

Klee,  House  by  the  brook . 


PAGE 

.  .  .  .I64 

•  •  •  •  5  3 
.  ...  92 

.  ...  93 
.  .  .  .  184 

.  .  .  .  204 
.  .  .  .  202 
.  ...  4 

.  ...  84 
.  .  .  .  14S 

.  .  .  .  26 
.  ...  27 

•  ...  36 
.  ...  16 
.  ...  108 
.  .  .  .  200 
.  ...  154 
.  ...  48 
.  ...  64 

...  72 
.  .  .  .  207 
.  .  .  128 
.  .  .  129 

•  •  .132 

•  •  •  141 

Frontispiece 
...  70 

•  •  .133 
...  96 
.  .  .  186 
...  158 
...  20 
...  105 
.  .  .  116 
.  .  .  124 
...  88 


X 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

Kroll,  Brooklyn  Bridge . 198 

Still  life . 210 

Lecer,  The  chimneys . 61 

Lendbruck,  Kneeling  woman  . 203 

Marc,  The  steer . 104 

Matisse,  The  dance . 44 

IV Oman  in  red  madras . 112 

Portrait  heads . 205 

Back  of  woman . 206 

Metzinger,  The  taster . 60 

Munter,  The  boat  ride . 172 

The  white  zvall  . 173 

Picabia,  Dance  at  the  spring . 68 

Picasso,  Woman  with  mandolin . 74 

The  poet . 75 

Drawing . 100 

Old  zooman . 140 

Rousseau,  Portrait  of  self . 12 

Landscape  . 13 

Russolo,  Rebellion  . 178 

V'  Segonzac,  Pasturage . 182 

Forest . 192 

Severini,  The  milliner . 80 

Van  Gogh,  Portrait  of  self . • . 40 

Cafe . 56 

Woman  zvith  frying  pan . 120 

Chair  with  pipe . 121 

Van  Rees,  Still  life . 89 

Maternity . 168 

Villon,  Young  girl . 32 

Vlaminck,  Village . 136 

Werefkin,  The  country  road . 52 

Zak,  The  shepherd . 8 


CUBISTS 

AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


ALAS!  ALAS!! 


“  It  is  unlikely  that  any  painters  will  ever  again  have  to 
face  the  hostility  which  was  manifested  against  the  Impres¬ 
sionists.  The  repetition  of  such  a  phenomenon  would  be 
impossible.  The  case  of  the  Impressionists,  in  which  wither¬ 
ing  scorn  yielded  place  to  admiration,  has  put  criticism  on  its 
guard.  It  will  surely  stand  as  a  warning,  and  ought  to  pre¬ 
vent  the  recurrence  of  a  similar  outburst  of  indignation  against 
the  innovators  and  independents  whom  time  may  yet  bring 
forth.” 


“  Manet  and  the  French  Impressionists,” 
by  Theodore  Duret,  pp.  180,  181. 


Cubists  and  Post-Impressionism 

i 

A  SENSATION 

SINCE  the  exhibit  at  the  Columbian  Exposition  (1893) 
nothing  has  happened  in  the  world  of  American  art  so 
stimulating  as  the  recent  INTERNATIONAL  EXHIBI¬ 
TION  OF  MODERN  ART.  New  York  and  Chicago,  spring 
of  1913.* 

“  Stimulating  ”  is  the  word,  for  while  the  recent  exhibition 
may  have  lacked  some  of  the  good,  solidly  painted  pictures 
found  in  the  earlier,  it  contained  so  much  that  was  fresh, 
new,  original  —  eccentric,  if  you  prefer  —  that  it  gave  our 
art-world  food  for  thought  —  and  heated  controversy. 

<$><$>  <$> 


Art  thrives  on  controversy  —  like  every  human  endeavor. 
The  fiercer  the  controversy  the  surer,  the  sounder,  the  saner 
the  outcome.  <S>  <3>  ^ 

Perfection  is  unattainable.  As  man  in  his  loftiest  flight 
stretches  forth  his  hand  to  seize  a  star  he  drops  back  to 
earth.  The  finer,  the  purer  the  development  of  any  art  the 

*  The  names  of  the  men  who,  in  a  spirit  of  disinterested  devotion 
to  art,  organized  this  exhibition  should  not  be  forgotten.  They  were : 
Arthur  B.  Davies,  J.  Mowbray  Clarke,  Elmer  L.  McRae,  Walt  Kuhn, 
Karl  Anderson,  George  Bellows,  D.  Putnam  Brinley,  Leon  Dabo,  Jo 
Davidson,  Guy  Pene  DuBois,  Sherry  E.  Fry,  William  J.  Glackens, 
Robert  Henri,  E.  A.  Kramer,  Ernest  Lawson,  Jonas  Lie,  George  B. 
Luks,  Jerome  Myers,  Frank  A.  Nankivell,  Bruce  Porter,  Walter  Pach, 
Maurice  Prendergast,  John  Sloan,  Henry  Fitch  Taylor,  Allen  Tucker, 
Mahonri  Young. 

For  detailed  account  of  earlier  exhibitions  held  by  Mr.  Alfred 
Stieglitz  —  the  real  pioneer  —  in  the  Photo-Secession  Gallery,  291 
Fifth  Ave.,  New  York,  see  Appendix.1 

1 


2 


CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


more  certain  the  reaction,  the  return  to  elemental  condi¬ 
tions —  to  begin  over  again. 

<$><$><$> 

The  young  sculptor  looks  at  the  chaste  perfection  of 
Greek  sculpture  and  says,  “What  is  the  use?  I  will  do 
something  different.”  The  young  painter  looks  at  the  great 
painters  of  yesterday  and  exclaims,  “What  is  the  use?  I 
cannot  excel  them  in  their  way;  I  must  do  something  in  my 
own  way.”  It  is  the  same  in  business;  the  young  merchant 
studies  the  methods  of  the  successful  men  in  his  line  and 
says,  “  It  is  idle  for  me  to  copy  their  methods.  I  will  do 
something  different,  something  in  my  own  way,”  and  he 
displays  his  goods  differently,  advertises  differently,  con¬ 
ducts  his  business  differently,  and  if  successful  is  hailed  as  a 
genius,  if  a  failure  he  is  regarded  as  a  visionary  or  an  eccen¬ 
tric —  the  result  making  all  the  difference  in  the  world  in 
the  verdict  of  the  public. 

Painting  today  is  a  terrible  problem  to  an  absolutely  sincere, 
honest,  and  yet  ambitious  mind. 

Fired  to  set  forth  something  of  his  very  own,  to  avoid  plagiarism 
and  give  the  world  something  it  has  never  yet  received,  the  artist,  in 
whatever  direction  he  advances,  finds  the  horizon  bounded  by  a  great 
master  whom  he  cannot  hope  to  surpass.  Well,  indeed,  may  he  ask 
what  is  the  use  of  trying  to  do  what  Van  Eyck,  Botticelli,  Vermeer, 
Rembrandt,  Veronese,  Michael  Angelo,  Velasquez  —  nay,  even  what 
Constable,  Corot,  Claude  Monet,  and  Signac  have  done  to  perfection? 

In  despair  at  surpassing  the  limits  set  by  the  great  masters  of 
progress  he  harks  back,  as  the  pre-Raphaelites  did,  to  the  painters 
before  Raphael.  Alas,  Fra  Lippi  and  Taddeo  Gaddi  are  soon  found 
to  be  too  sophisticated.  He  goes  back  farther,  to  Giotto,  to  Orcagna, 
even  to  the  Egyptians,  and  with  the  same  result.  At  last  he  takes 
his  courage  in  his  hands  and,  throwing  overboard  the  whole  cargo 
of  art  history,  ancient  and  modern,  he  seeks  to  forget  that  picture 
was  ever  painted,  and  with  eyes  freed  from  traditional  vision  he  seeks 
to  recreate  the  barbaric  art  of  infancy. 

Call  this  man  an  extremist  if  you  like,  but  do  not  lightly  dub 
him  insincere  and  charlatan.  He  is  the  counterpart  in  art  of  the 


3 


A  SENSATION 

extremist  in  politics,  the  man  who  has  no  patience  with  palliative 
measures,  who  demands  the  whole  loaf  and  nothing  but  the  loaf, 
who  kicks  savagely  away  the  fragments  of  bread  tendered  him  by 
the  moderate  and  respectable.  A  dangerous  man  he  may  be,  but  he 
is  no  trifler;  and,  if  he  succeeds  in  his  purpose,  as  extremists  some¬ 
times  do,  the  whipped  world  at  his  feet  hails  him  as  reformer  and 
benefactor  of  humanity.* 

<$><$><$> 

The  Columbian  Exposition  gave  American  art  a  tremen¬ 
dous  impetus  forward,  but  of  late  it  has  been  getting  a  little 
smug;  the  International  Exhibition  came  and  gave  our  com¬ 
placency  a  severe  jolt. 

The  net  result  is  that  American  art  has  received  another 
impulse  forward ;  it  will  do  bigger  and  finer  and  saner 
things.  It  will  not  copy  the  eccentricities,  the  exaggera¬ 
tions,  the  morbid  enthusiasms  of  the  recent  exhibition, 
because  America  as  yet  is  not  given  to  eccentricities  and 
morbidness  —  though  it  may  be  to  a  youthful  habit  of  exag¬ 
geration.  America  is  essentially  sane  and  healthful  —  say 
quite  practical  —  in  its  outlook,  hence  it  will  absorb  all  that 
is  good  in  the  extreme  modern  movement  and  reject  what  is 
bad. 

Neither  our  students  nor  our  painters  will  be  carried  off 
their  feet  but  they  will  be  helped  onward.  They  will  be 
helped  in  their  technic,  and  they  will  see  things  from  new 
angles,  they  will  be  more  independent,  in  short  they  will  be 
better  and  bigger  painters. 

They  will  not  be  Cubists,  Orphists,  or  Futurists,  but  they 
will  absorb  all  there  is  of  good  in  Cubism,  Orphism,  Futur¬ 
ism  —  and  other  “  isms ;  ”  and  bear  in  mind  it  is  the  ist  who 
is  always  blazing  a  trail  somewhere;  he  may  lose  himself  in 
the  dense  undergrowth  of  his  theories  but  he  at  least  marks 
a  path  others  have  not  trodden. 

•“Revolution  in  Art,”  by  Frank  Rutter,  pp.  14,  15. 


4 


CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


The  recent  exhibition  was  not  an  isolated  movement. 
There  are  no  isolated  movements  in  life.  The  International 
Exhibition  was  just  as  inevitable  as  the  Progressive  political 
convention  of  1912  in  Chicago. 

The  world  is  filled  with  ferment  —  ferment  of  new  ideas, 
ferment  of  originality  and  individuality,  of  assertion  of  inde¬ 
pendence.  This  is  true  in  religion,  science,  politics  as  well 
as  in  art.  It  is  true  in  business.  New  thought  is  every¬ 
where.  The  most  radical  suggestions  are  debated  at  the 
dinner  table.  In  politics  what  would  have  been  considered 
socialistic  twenty  years  ago  is  accepted  today  as  reasonable. 
To  the  conservative  masses  these  new  departures  may  seem 
like  a  wild  overturning  of  all  that  is  sacred,  but  there  is  no 
need  for  fear;  all  that  is  really  sound  will  gain  in  the  end. 

<$><$><$> 

Neither  Cubism,  Futurism  nor  any  other  “ism”  troubles 
the  really  great  painter;  it  is  the  little  fellow  who  fumes 
and  swears. 

The  poise  of  the  great  man  is  not  at  all  disturbed  by  the 
eccentric  and  the  bizarre;  on  the  contrary  he  looks  with  a 
curious  eye  to  see  if  something  of  value  may  not  be  found. 

Whistler  would  not  have  painted  Cubist  pictures,  but 
having  known  the  man  I  can  say  that  nothing  there  may  be 
of  good  in  Cubism  would  have  gotten  by  the  penetrating 
vision  of  that  great  painter. 

It  is  characteristic  of  the  little  man  to  ridicule  or  resent 
everything  he  does  not  understand;  it  is  characteristic  of 
the  great  man  to  be  silent  in  the  presence  of  what  he  does 

not  understand.  A 

<$>  <S>  <$> 

Just  now  the  older  men  are  violently  opposed  to  the 
newer;  there  is  no  attempt  at  understanding  and  there  is 
abundant  ridicule  instead  of  sympathy. 


*„n  j,  fiM«t 
itn  ' 


A  SENSATION 


5 


This  is  inevitable  and  quite  in  accord  with  human  nature, 
but  it  is  a  pity.  The  old  and  the  new  are  not  rivals;  the 
new  is  simply  a  departure  from  the  old,  simply  an  attempt 
to  do  something  different  with  line  and  color.  The  older 
men  should  watch  the  younger  with  keenest  interest;  they 
may  feel  sure  the  new  is  foredoomed  to  failure,  but  that  is 
no  cause  for  rejoicing;  on  the  contrary  the  older  man  should 
always  be  sorry  to  see  the  soaring  flights  of  youth  come  to 
grief. 

£>  <$> 

Because  a  man  buys  a  few  Cubist  pictures  it  must  not 
be  assumed  he  is  a  believer  in  Cubism. 

Because  a  man  has  a  few  books  on  socialism  or  anarchism 
in  his  library  we  do  not  assume  he  is  a  socialist,  or  an 
anarchist;  on  the  contrary  it  is  commonly  assumed  he  is 
simply  broadly  and  sanely  interested  in  social  and  political 
theories.  The  radical  may  not  convince  me  he  is  right,  but 
he  may  show  me  I  am  wrong. 

The  man  who  flies  into  a  passion  at  pictures  because 
they  are  not  like  the  pictures  he  owns  is  on  a  par  with  the 
man  who  flies  into  a  passion  at  books  because  they  are  not 
like  the  books  he  owns  —  the  world  is  filled  with  such  men, 
unreceptive,  unresponsive;  many  intelligent  in  their  narrow 
way,  but  bigoted. 

To  most  men  a  new  idea  is  a  greater  shock  than  a  cold 
plunge  in  winter. 

Personally  I  have  no  more  interest  in  Cubism  than  in 
any  other  “  ism,”  but  failure  to  react  to  new  impressions  is 
a  sure  sign  of  age.  I  would  hate  to  be  so  old  that  a  new 
picture  or  a  new  idea  would  frighten  me. 

I  would  like  to  own  Raphaels  and  Titians  and  Rem¬ 
brandts  and  Velasquezes,  but  I  can’t  afford  it.  I  say  I  would 
like  to  own  them;  no,  I  would  not,  for  I  have  the  conviction 


6 


CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


that  no  man  has  the  right  to  appropriate  to  himself  the  work 
of  the  great  masters.  Their  paintings  belong  to  the  world 
and  should  be  in  public  places  for  the  enjoyment  and  instruc¬ 
tion  of  all. 

It  is  the  high  privilege  of  the  private  buyer  to  buy  the 
works  of  new  men,  and  by  encouraging  them  disclose  a  Rem¬ 
brandt,  a  Hals,  a  Millet,  a  Corot,  a  Manet,  but  when  the 
public  begins  to  want  the  pictures  the  private  buyer,  instead 
of  bidding  against  the  public,  should  step  one  side;  his  task 
is  done,  his  opportunity  has  passed. 

<$><$>❖ 

Most  men  buy  pictures  not  because  they  want  them,  but 
because  some  one  else  wants  them. 

The  man  who  gives  half  a  million  for  a  Rembrandt  does 
so  not  because  he  knows  or  cares  anything  about  the  picture, 
but  solely  because  he  is  made  to  believe  some  one  else  wants 
it  $450,000  worth. 

Read  this: 

The  crowning  event  of  the  day  was  the  sale  of  Rembrandt’s 
“  Bathsheba.”  The  bidding  started  at  150,000  francs  and  within  a 
couple  of  minutes  a  perfect  whirlwind  of  bids  had  carried  the  price 
to  500,000  francs  offered  by  a  dealer,  Mr.  Trotti. 

Already  the  smaller  fry  among  the  bidders  had  been  eliminated 
and  the  contest  was  circumscribed  to  a  small  group,  Messrs.  Duveen, 
Wildenstein,  Tedesco,  Muller  and  Trotti  being  the  most  ardent  in 
the  battle. 

“Six  hundred  thousand!”  cried  Mr.  Duveen. 

“  Six  hundred  and  fifty  thousand,”  said  Mr.  Wildenstein. 

Mr.  Duveen  replied  with  a  nod  which  meant  the  addition  of 
another  50,000.  Then  with  bids  of  10,000  and  25,000  the  price  mounted, 
the  struggle  developing  into  a  duel  between  Mr.  Wildenstein  and 
Mr.  Duveen.  Eight  hundred  thousand  francs  was  reached  and  left 
behind;  900,000  francs  in  turn  was  passed. 

“  Nine  hundred  and  fifty  thousand,”  rapped  out  Mr.  Duveen. 

“  Nine  hundred  and  sixty  thousand,”  responded  Mr.  Wildenstein. 

Then  came  “  nine  hundred  and  seventy  thousand  ”  and  “  nine  hun- 


A  SENSATION 


7 


dred  and  eighty  thousand.”  By  this  time  the  entire  gathering  was 
spellbound  by  the  spectacle  of  the  gladiatorial  contest  for  the  picture. 

“  Nine  hundred  and  ninety  thousand,”  said  Mr.  Wildenstein. 

There  was  an  instant  of  silence. 

“A  million!” 

Every  eye  turned  from  the  speaker,  Mr.  Duveen,  to  gaze  on  Mr. 
Wildenstein  expectantly.  Then  there  was  silence,  signifying  his 
withdrawal  from  the  fight. 

A  mighty  hubbub  arose.  The  Rembrandt  had  been  knocked  down 
to  Mr.  Duveen  for  a  million  francs,  or,  with  the  commission,  1,100,000 
francs.  Never  has  such  a  price  been  given  for  a  Rembrandt. 

This  is  not  dealing  in  art,  it  is  art  on  the  horse-block. 
Here  is  the  record  of  that  one  painting: 


1734 — Sold  at  Antwerp  for  . $  109 

1791 — Sold  at  Paris  for  .  240 

1814 — Sold  at  London  for  .  525 

1830 —  Sold  at  London  for  .  790 

1831 —  Sold  at  London  for  .  792 

1832 —  Sold  at  London  for  .  1,260 

1841 — Sold  at  Paris  for  .  1,576 

1913 — Sold  at  Paris  for  .  220,000 


❖  <$><$> 

During  the  exhibition  in  New  York  and  Chicago  the 
pictures  were  the  one  topic  of  conversation;  for  the  time 
being  it  was  worth  while  to  dine  out;  society  became  almost 
animated. 

I  recall  one  delightful  and  irascible  old  gentleman,  critic 
and  painter,  who  had  not  had  a  fresh  appreciation  for 
twenty-five  years.  For  him  art  ended  with  the  Barbizon 
school.  Whistler,  Monet,  Degas  had  no  sure  places. 

$>  <$>  <S> 

We  all  have  the  courage  of  others’  convictions. 

The  new,  however  good,  is  always  queer;  the  old,  how¬ 
ever  bad,  is  never  strange. 

Most  people  laugh  at  new  pictures  because  they  are 


8 


CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


afraid  if  they  don’t  laugh  at  the  pictures,  other  people  will 
laugh  at  them. 

Now  and  then  a  man  laughs  at  a  queer  picture  because 
he  can’t  help  it,  he  is  a  joy. 

Laughter  is  the  honest  emotion  of  the  child,  on  the 
grown-up  it  is  often  a  mark  of  ignorance. 

It  is  so  easy  to  ridicule  what  one  does  not  understand 
and  dares  not  like. 

Laughter  never  stops  to  think  —  if  it  did  there  would  be 
less  laughter. 

If  you  feel  like  laughing  at  a  picture,  laugh  by  all  means, 
it  will  do  you  good,  but  be  sure  you  really  feel  like  laughing, 
and  to  make  sure  ask  yourself  this  question,  “  If  that  picture 
were  the  only  one  in  the  room  and  I  were  alone  with  it 
would  it  strike  me  as  laughable?” 

<S>  <$>  <$> 

It  always  takes  just  about  so  many  years.  What  hap¬ 
pened  with  the  Barbizon  School  happened  with  Impression¬ 
ism;  what  happened  with  Impressionism,  will  happen  with 
Post-Impressionism ;  what  will  happen  with  Post-Impres¬ 
sionism  will  surely  happen  with  post-post-impressionism, 
and  so  on.  One  movement  follows  another,  as  season  follows 
season.  Life  is  rhythm. 

Each  generation  thinks  itself  unique  in  its  experiences. 

We  go  to  an  exhibition  of  cubist  pictures  and  we  think 
nothing  like  that  ever  happened  before,  hence  we  feel  safe 
in  denouncing  them. 

We  admit  England  was  wrong  when  it  ridiculed  Turner, 
that  France  was  wrong  when  it  ridiculed  Corot,  that  Paris 
was  wrong  when  it  derided  Millet,  Manet,  Monet,  Degas, 
and  a  host  of  other  great  men,  but  ive  are  not  wrong  when 
we  deride  the  new  men.  Why?  Because  we  think  they  are 
newer  and  stranger  than  the  men  named. 


A  SENSATION 


9 


We  accept  Wagner  as  a  genius,  but  Strauss  —  oh,  no,  he 
is  too  strange,  but  there  are  stranger  composers  than  Strauss 
already  at  work  and  we  must  travel  fast  to  keep  up  with 
the  procession.* 

Be  very  sure  the  Cubists,  the  Futurists,  and  all  the  other 
queer  “  ists  ”  would  not  make  the  impression  they  are  making 
if  there  were  not  a  good  reason  for  it,  if  the  times  were  not 
ripe  for  a  change. 

<$>  <§>  ❖ 

Broadly  speaking  we  are  changing  from  the  perfections 
of  Impressionism  to  the  imperfections  of  Post-Impressionism; 
from  the  achievements  of  a  school,  a  movement,  that  has  done 
the  best  it  could,  to  the  attempts ,  the  experiments,  the  grop- 
ings,  of  new  men  along  new  lines. 

It  is  the  purpose  of  this  book  to  describe  some  of  the 
changes  that  are  taking  place  and  try  to  explain  them  in 
plain,  every-day  terms. 

The  curse  of  art  literature  and  professional  art  criticism 
is  art-jargon. 

*  Five  short  pieces  of  the  music  by  Arnold  Schoenberg  were 
played  for  the  first  time  in  Chicago,  December  31,  1913,  by  the  Chi¬ 
cago  Symphony  Orchestra. 

“  Had  Mr.  Richard  Swiveller  been  present  at  the  performance  of 
the  new  Stravinsky-Nijinsky  ballet,  ‘  Le  Sacre  du  Printemps,’  at  Drury 
Lane  on  Friday  night  he  would  certainly  have  pronounced  it  ‘  a 
staggerer.’  Both  the  music  of  M.  Stravinsky  and  the  choreography 
of  M.  Nijinsky  are  more  defiantly  anarchical  than  anything  we  have 
ever  had  before,  and  the  purport  of  it  all  was  a  dark  mystery,  even 
though  Mr.  Edwin  Evans  was  deputed  to  throw  light  on  it  in  a  long 
explanatory  prologue.  As  every  one  knows  by  this  time,  M.  Nijinsky 
is  the  apostle  of  a  sort  of  ‘  post-impressionist  ’  or  ‘  Cubist  ’  revolution 
of  the  dance,  in  which  mere  gracefulness  is  ruthlessly  sacrificed  to 
significance  and  force  of  expression,  and  everything  is  stated  in  terms 
of  symbolism,  and  in  the  new  ballet  he  seems  to  have  carried  his! 
theories  into  the  most  extreme  practice.  .  .  .  M.  Stravinsky  seems  as 
determined  to  make  the  hearer  sit  up  as  his  colleague.  Save  that  he 
condescends  to  regular  rhythms,  his  music  is  the  last  word  in 
emancipation  from  form  and  the  cacophony  of  it  is  at  times  distress¬ 
ing.” —  (London  Sunday  Times,  July  13,  1913,  from  its  article  on  the 
new  Russian  ballet,  the  sensation  of  the  season.) 


10  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


Every  department  of  human  activity  from  sport  to 
science,  baseball  to  philosophy,  speedily  develops  its  own 
jargon  and  the  tendency  is  for  the  jargon  to  become  denser 
and  denser  and  so  more  and  more  obscure  its  subject,  until 
some  man  with  horse-sense  —  like  Huxley  in  science  and 
William  James  in  philosophy  —  restores  the  use  of  everyday 
English. 

Some  jargon  like  that  of  the  baseball  reporter  is  intensely 
vivid  and  amusing,  it  is  language  in  the  making,  but  the 
jargon  of  the  art  critic  is  deadly,  it  is  neither  vivid  nor  inter¬ 
esting —  it  is  simply  hypnotic.  It  is  only  when  the  critic 
gets  so  angry  he  forgets  his  jargon  that  he  becomes  intelli¬ 
gible —  and  betrays  himself. 

The  reputation  of  many  a  preacher,  many  an  orator, 
depends  wholly  upon  his  command  of  jargon,  his  ability  to 
utter  endless  phrases  which  are  either  stock  ideas,  old  as  the 
hills,  or  which  sound  as  if  they  meant  something  but  on 
analysis  prove  quite  barren. 


II 


POST-IMPRESSIONISM 

POST-Impressionism  means  exactly  what  the  prefix 
means  —  the  art-development  following  Impressionism. 
It  does  not  mean  a  further,  or  a  higher,  or  a  more  subtle 
form  of  Impressionism,  but  it  means  something  radically 
different,  it  means  a  reaction  from  Impressionism. 

<S>  <$>  <S> 

The  evolution  of  the  new  movement  has  been  logical 
and  inevitable. 

After  the  Barbizon  school  with  its  romantic  representa¬ 
tion  of  nature,  there  came  inevitably  the  realistic  painters, 
headed  by  Courbet,  later  by  Manet  —  men  who  painted  things 
not  romantically  but  realistically,  pitilessly,  brutally.  There 
was  the  same  rage  against  these  men  as  against  the  Cubists 
today.  Both  Whistler  and  Manet  were  in  the  Salon  des 
Refuses  of  1864. 

Along  with  the  men  who  painted  things  as  they  saw  them, 
came  naturally  men  like  Monet,  Sissley,  Pisarro,  Seurat, 
Signac,  who  tried  endless  experiments  in  the  effort  to  paint 
light  as  they  saw  it. 

So  that  the  final  twenty-five  years  of  the  last  century 
were  given  up  in  France  to  attempts  to  paint  things  and  light 
as  they  really  are. 

After  the  painting  of  things  and  light  one  would  say  the 
art  of  painting  had  touched  its  limits,  that  there  was  nothing 
more  to  do.  But,  no,  there  is  the  painting  of  neither  things 
nor  light  —  the  painting  of  emotions  —  the  painting  of  pure 
line  and  color  compositions  for  the  sake  of  the  pleasure  such 
harmonies  afford  —  the  expression  of  one's  inner  self. 

11 


12  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 

It  was  while  Manet  was  painting  things  as  they  are,  and 
Monet  was  painting  light  as  it  is,  that  Whistler  was  painting 
both  things  and  light  but  with  an  entirely  different  object  in 
view,  namely,  the  production  of  color  harmonies  superior  to 
either  thing-effects  or  light-effects. 

To  the  following  resume  it  is  obvious  another  paragraph 
must  be  added  to  bring  the  record  down  to  date. 

<§><$><§> 


Painting  in  France  in  the  nineteenth  century  followed  a  course 
parallel  with  that  of  the  intellectual  life  of  the  country,  it  adapted 
itself  to  the  various  changes  in  modes  of  thought,  it  took  upon  itself 
a  succession  of  forms  corresponding  to  those  which  were  evolved 
in  literature. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  century,  under  the  Empire,  painting  was 
classical.  It  was  primarily  engaged  in  rendering  scenes  borrowed 
from  the  antique  world  of  Greece  and  Rome,  subjects  derived  from 
fable  and  mythology.  Historical  painting  formed  the  essence  of  high 
art.  It  was  based  upon  the  nude,  treated  according  to  the  classical 
model.  Two  masters  —  David  and  Ingress  —  were  its  loftiest  expres¬ 
sion.  After  them  classical  art  was  continued  in  an  enfeebled  condi¬ 
tion  by  painters  of  only  secondary  importance. 

The  new  spirit  of  romanticism,  however,  which  had  arisen  in 
literature,  also  made  its  appearance  in  painting.  Delacroix  was  the 
master  in  whom  it  found  its  most  complete  expression.  The  tones 
of  classical  art,  sober,  restrained,  and  often  cold,  gave  place  in  his 
work  to  warm  and  brilliant  coloration.  For  the  nicely  balanced 
scenes  of  classical  antiquity,  he  substituted  compositions  tumultuous 
with  movement.  Romanticism  developed  freedom  of  action  and  ex¬ 
pressiveness  of  pose  to  their  utmost  limits. 

Painting  was  then  conquered  by  realism,  which  had  also  invaded 
literature.  Courbet  was  its  great  initiator.  He  painted  the  life  he 
saw  around  him  in  a  direct,  robust  manner.  He  also  painted  land¬ 
scape  with  a  truthfulness  that  was  informed  by  a  powerful  emotion. 
At  the  same  time,  Rousseau  and  Corot  had  also  brought  landscape 
painting  into  close  touch  with  nature.  They  had  rediscovered  its  soul 
and  its  charm.  Finally,  crowning,  as  it  were,  the  work  of  their 
predecessors,  came  Manet  and  the  Impressionists.* 

*“  Manet  and  the  French  Impressionists,”  by  Theodore  Duret, 
Introduction. 


ROUSSEAU 
Portrait  of  Self 


ROUSSEAU 

Landscape 


POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


13 


Turner  was  the  forerunner  of  Impressionism,  the  father 
of  attempts  to  paint  brilliant  light  effects,  Whistler  was  the 
forerunner  of  Post-Impressionism,  the  father  of  attempts  to 
paint  line  and  color  compositions. 

Turner  did  not  carry  his  theories  to  the  scientific  extremes 
of  the  Impressionists  and  Neo-Impressionists;  Whistler  did 
not  carry  his  attempts  to  the  abstract  extremes  of  the 
Compositionalists  and  the  Cubists ;  but  in  their  work  are 
found  the  seeds  of  all  there  is  in  Impressionism  and  Post- 
Impressionism. 

<S>  3>  <S> 

“  Do  you  say  that  this  is  a  correct  representation  of  Bat¬ 
tersea  Bridge?” 

“  I  did  not  intend  it  to  be  a  ‘  correct  ’  portrait  of  the  bridge. 
It  is  only  a  moonlight  scene,  and  the  pier  in  the  center  of 
the  bridge  may  or  may  not  be  like  the  piers  at  Battersea 
Bridge  as  you  know  them  in  broad  daylight.  As  to  what 
the  picture  represents,  that  depends  upon  who  looks  at  it. 
To  some  persons  it  may  represent  all  that  is  intended;  to 
others  it  may  represent  nothing.” 

“  The  prevailing  color  is  blue  ?  ” 

“  Perhaps.” 

“Are  those  figures  on  the  top  of  the  bridge  intended  for 
people?” 

“They  are  just  what  you  like.” 

“Is  that  a  barge  beneath?” 

“Yes.  I  am  very  much  encouraged  at  your  perceiving 
that.  My  whole  scheme  was  only  to  bring  about  a  certain 
harmony  of  color.”* 

$>  <$>  <$> 

Most  painters  are  so  intent  upon  the  subjects  of  their  work 
they  give  little  thought  to  color  harmonies.  Whistler  was 

♦Testimony  of  Whistler  in  suit  of  “Whistler  v.  Ruskin.” 


14  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


the  one  great  modern  exception;  his  first  thought  was  to 
produce  beautiful  effects  in  line  and  color,  hence  his  titles, 
“  Nocturnes,”  “  Symphonies,”  “  Arrangements,”  and  so  on. 
He  did  not  like  to  give  his  portraits  the  names  of  his  sitters. 
Where  other  painters  emphasize  the  “subjects”  and  the 
“stories  ”  of  their  pictures  he  tried  to  suppress  both  and 
direct  the  attention  of  the  beholder  to  the  painting.  He  was 
the  forerunner  of  recent  attempts  to  do  with  line  and  color 
what  the  musician  does  with  sound.  He  was  the  leader  of 
the  revolt  against  the  “story-telling”  picture. 

<$><$><$> 

Millet  is  a  good  illustration  of  the  painter  to  whom  “sub¬ 
ject”  was  everything,  and  technic  of  quite  secondary  import¬ 
ance.  I  think  it  is  generally  conceded  that  as  a  painter,  a 
master  of  technic,  he  did  not  rank  very  high,  but  he  had  a 
faculty  for  painting  subjects,  scenes  from  life,  that  grip.  As 
a  painter  Whistler  was  incomparably  superior  to  Millet,  but 
just  because  he  was  a  great  master  of  technic  and  quite 
indifferent  to  the  story-telling  side  of  his  pictures  he  did  not 
become  so  popular.*  <s>  <$>  <$> 

There  are  many  actions  and  reactions  in  art,  many  evolu¬ 
tions  and  involutions,  but  the  great  rhythmical  sweep  of  the 
pendulum  is  from,  let  us  say,  studio- art  to  nature- art,  and 
back  from  nature-art  to  studio- art. 

From  works  of  observation  to  works  of  imagination,  and 
back  from  the  use  of  the  imagination  to  the  use  of  observation. 

*  How  little  the  world  cared  for  Millet  when  he  lived  is  a  matter 
of  history.  He  painted  his  greatest  pictures  in  a  room  without  a 
fire,  in  straw  shoes,  and  with  a  horse  blanket  on  his  shoulders,  and 
often  he  and  his  wife  went  without  food.  “All  his  efforts  to  exhibit 
in  Paris  were  in  vain.  Even  in  1859,  ‘  Death  and  the  Woodcutter  ’ 
was  rejected  by  the  Salon.  The  public  laughed,  being  accustomed  to 
peasants  in  comic  opera,  and,  at  best,  his  pictures  were  honored  by 
a  caricature  in  a  humorous  paper.”  His  pictures  brought  from  fifty 
to  sixty  dollars. 


POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


15 


For  a  time  men  work  feverishly  in  the  seclusion  of  their 
closets  painting,  writing,  modelling,  composing  beautiful 
things,  pure  products  of  their  imaginations,  then  comes  the 
reaction  and  they  feel  the  need  of  renewing  their  vigor  by 
touching  heel  to  earth.  They  draw  aside  their  curtains, 
throw  open  their  doors  and  go  out  into  the  sunlight  to  breathe 
the  fresh  air  and  gain  new  inspirations  from  contact  with 
nature. 

That  is  what  happens  in  art  once  in  so  often. 

The  Barbizon  school  was  a  studio  school.  It  walked  the 
streets  and  the  fields;  it  looked  at  men  and  women  at  work 
and  at  play,  but  when  it  came  to  paint  it  did  not  paint  out¬ 
doors  with  object  and  easel  in  close  contact;  it  retired  within 
its  doors  and  transformed  life  and  nature  as  great  romantic 
story-tellers  translate  their  impressions  into  fairy-tales  and 
romances. 

❖  <$><$> 

It  seems  a  far  cry  from  Millet  to  Chabaud  but  in  some 
aspects  of  their  attitude  toward  art  they  are  nearly  akin. 
Between  the  two  there  intervened  Impressionism,  that  is  all. 
Millet  painted  labor.  And  what  is  the  painting  by  Chabaud, 
“The  Laborer,”  but  a  more  elemental  Millet?  It  lacks  the 
romantic,  the  poetic  qualities  of  Millet’s  “  Labor,”  for 
instance,  or  his  “  Sower  ”  —  paintings  famous  in  prints  and 
reproductions,  but  it  is  none  the  less  a  vivid  representation 
of  labor. 

To  the  admirers  of  Millet  it  may  seem  sacrilegious  to  even 
mention  Chabaud  in  comparison,  but,  confining  our  attention 
to  the  one  painting  reproduced  herein,  there  is  no  question 
that  in  its  elemental  strength,  its  simplicity,  it  possesses  a 
quality,  a  certain  bald  dramatic  quality  that  Millet  lacks, 
though  Millet’s  “Sower”  may  possess  qualities  you  like 
more. 


16  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


However  it  is  with  no  intention  to  make  a  comparison 
between  two  men  so  very  different,  that  I  mention  them, 
but  rather  for  the  purpose  of  pointing  out  that  the  attitude 
of  both  to  their  art  is  fundamentally  the  same  —  they  use 
art  to  express  themselves  and  not  to  imitate  what  they  see. 

This  is  the  way  Millet  worked.  “  He  himself  went  about 
Barbizon  like  a  peasant.  And  he  might  have  been  seen  wan¬ 
dering  over  the  woods  and  fields  with  an  old,  red  cloak, 
wooden  shoes,  and  a  weather-beaten  straw  hat.  He  rose  at 
sunrise,  and  wandered  about  the  country  as  his  parents  had 
done.  He  guarded  no  flocks,  drove  no  cows,  and  no  yokes 
of  oxen  or  horses;  he  carried  neither  mattock  nor  spade  but 
rested  on  his  stick;  he  was  equipped  with  only  the  faculty  of 
observation  and  poetic  intention  ...  he  leant  on  the  garden 
wall  with  his  arms  crossed  on  his  breast,  and  looked  into  the 
setting  sun  as  it  threw  a  rosy  veil  over  field  and  forest.  He 
heard  the  chime  of  vesper  bells,  watched  the  people  pray  and 
then  return  home.  And  he  returned  also,  and  read  the 
Bible  by  lamplight,  while  his  wife  sewed  and  the  children 
slept.  When  all  was  quiet  he  closed  the  book  and  began 
to  dream.  .  .  .  On  the  morrow  he  painted .”  * 

This  is  the  method  of  all  the  very  great  art  the  world  has 
ever  known  —  first  to  see;  and  then  to  dream  and  then  on  the 
morrow  to  paint. 

Impressionism  cut  out  the  dreams — it  painted  what  it  saw. 

There  were  never  in  the  world  peasants  such  as  Millet 
painted,  or  woods  such  as  Daubigny  painted.  People  thought 
there  were  until  the  Impressionists  came  and  turned  on  the 
light. 

Corot’s  silvery  glades  have  a  closer  relationship  to  nature. 
He  felt  the  reaction  that  was  in  the  air.  He  was  almost  an 

♦“History  of  Modem  Painting,”  Richard  Muther,  Vol.  II,  pp. 
487-8. 


POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


17 


Impressionist  but  not  quite.  One  feels  the  poetic,  the 
imaginative  —  that  is,  the  studio  quality  in  his  work.  He 
sought  nature  but  not  in  the  spirit  displayed  by  the  Impres¬ 
sionists. 

<S>  <S>  <$> 

The  reaction  began  with  Courbet  and  was  given  a  power¬ 
ful  impetus  by  Manet  who  painted  things  not  as  he  imagined 
them  but  as  he  saw  them,  and  he  did  not  try  to  see  interesting 
people  and  things,  he  did  not  look  for  the  picturesque  but 
he  painted  anything  he  happened  to  see  upon  the  theory  that 
the  value  of  a  work  of  art  depends  not  upon  its  subject  but 
upon  its  technic;  that  the  worth  of  a  painting  is  to  be  found 
in  the  painting  and  not  in  the  object  that  happens  to  be 
painted. 

<$><$><$> 

Manet  painted  very  few  pictures  outdoors.  In  the  literal 
sense  he  did  not  belong  to  the  plein  air  school.  Almost  all 
his  work  was  done  indoors.  But  it  was  in  no  sense  studio- 
art  as  we  have  used  the  term.  He  painted  in  his  studio  as 
directly  as  Monet  painted  outdoors.  He  painted  a  sitter 
with  the  same  realism  that  Monet  painted  a  haystack;  and 
if  he  painted  a  bull  fight  from  memory  or  from  a  sketch,  he 
did  it  with  the  intention  to  reproduce  the  scene  literally. 

Whistler  had  his  literal  moods,  so  to  speak;  his  moments 
when  with  clear  eye  and  vision  unaffected  by  any  conscious 
play  of  the  imagination  he  would  make  marvellously  faithful 
transcripts  from  life  and  nature,  transcripts  so  faithful  that 
Monet’s  at  their  best  pale  in  comparison.  I  recall  three 
exquisite  marines  which  were  painted  in  a  boat,  the  canvases 
propped  against  a  seat. 

But  for  the  most  part  he  painted  indoors  and  with  the  one 
end  in  view  —  the  composition  of  line  and  color  harmonies 
more  beautiful  than  anything  found  in  nature,  just  as  the 


18  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 

musician  seeks  to  compose  harmonies  more  beautiful  than 
any  sounds  found  in  nature. 

In  the  clearness  of  his  vision  and  the  faithfulness  with 
which  he  painted  the  things  and  people  with  which  he  came 
in  contact  Whistler  was  an  Impressionist  —  an  Impressionist 
long  before  Monet,  but  in  his  search  after  color  and  line 
music,  in  his  attempts  to  do  things  beyond  and  above  nature, 
he  was  a  Po^-Impressionist. 

<$><$><$> 

From  a  psychological  point  of  view  it  is  not  difficult  to 
see  how  these  movements  come  about. 

Given  exhibitions  year  after  year  filled  with  paintings  of 
the  imagination,  with  idealized  peasants  such  as  Millet’s,  and 
idealized  landscapes  such  as  Rousseau’s,  it  is  morally  certain 
the  younger  painters  will  feel  a  restless  longing  to  return  to 
the  realities  of  life,  just  as  the  reading  or  theater  going  public 
after  being  fed  too  long  on  fairy-tales  and  romances  demand 
more  realistic  representations  of  life. 

Every  man  who  reads  much  has  his  fairy-tale  period  and 
his  romantic  period  followed  by  a  strong  taste  for  realism, 
which  in  turn  is  followed  by  a  new  and  finer  appreciation  of 
purely  imaginative  literature. 

In  his  beliefs  the  normal  man  passes  through  a  similar 
series  of  reactions  from  the  acceptance  of  the  marvellous  in 
his  childhood  and  youth  to  the  sceptical  rejection  of  the 
miraculous  and  the  acceptance  of  only  the  literal  and  material 
in  his  buoyant  manhood,  thence  to  the  profounder  philosophy 
and  mystical  speculations  of  riper  age. 

The  old,  old  conflict  between  materialism  and  idealism, 
between  seeing-knowing  and  thinking-feeling,  between  the 
cruder  actualities  of  the  senses  and  the  finer  actualities  of 
the  imagination! 

It  is  not  that  all  men  at  a  given  time  are  idealists  and  at 


POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


19 


another  realists,  any  more  than  all  painters  in  one  decade 
are  Impressionists,  in  another  Post-Impressionists.  Life 
does  not  move  that  way. 

<$>$><$> 

Between  1874  and  1900  Impressionism  forged  to  the  front 
and  monopolized  the  attention  of  the  art  world,  yet  during 
that  period  there  were  painted  more  pictures  of  the  Pre- 
Impressionist  schools  than  ever  before.  The  Impressionists 
made  all  the  noise,  the  Pre-Impressionists  did  most  of  the 
work. 

The  net  result  was  a  large  amount  of  absorption  by  the 
older  schools  of  the  good  things  in  Impressionism,  and  a 
noticeable  improvement  in  painting  generally. 

Just  now  the  Post-Impressionists  occupy  the  center  of  the 
stage  and  are  making  themselves  so  conspicuous  the  public 
is  almost  led  to  believe  that  both  Impressionists  and  Pre- 
Impressionists  no  longer  exist,  that  everything  once  consid¬ 
ered  good  in  art  is  being  relegated  to  the  storehouse. 

Again,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  with  all  the  noise  made  by  the 
Post-Impressionists,  it  is  beyond  question  true  that  never 
before  were  so  many  Impressionist  and  Pre-Impressionist 
pictures  painted  as  now. 

The  stream  of  Pre-Impressionist  and  Impressionist  pic¬ 
tures  goes  right  on  and  in  time  history  will  repeat  itself,  the 
good  in  Post-Impressionism  will  be  absorbed  and  the  main 
current  that  supplies  the  great  public  with  art  will  be  Pre- 
impressionist  -f-  Impressionist  -f  Po^-impressionist,  with  as 
many  more  prefixes  as  the  ingenuity  of  the  artist  can  devise 
to  describe  his  vagaries. 

<$>  <3>  <S> 

Painters  are  a  good  deal  like  inventors,  each  of  whom 
thinks  his  invention  sure  to  revolutionize  the  world,  to  find 


20  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


in  the  end  that  his  supposed  invention  is  either  not  new  or  if 
new  not  valuable. 

Now  and  then  a  painter  like  an  inventor  does  do  some¬ 
thing  that  is  revolutionary,  but  these  geniuses  are  not  com¬ 
mon,  and  with  even  them  critical  research  invariably  finds 
they  have  simply  built  upon  the  labors  of  others.  An  Edison, 
a  Bell,  a  Marconi  appears  only  when  electrical  science  has 
reached  a  stage  where  the  inventions  rather  than  the  men  are 
inevitable.  All  this  is  statistically  demonstrated  in  the 
records  of  patent  offices. 

<$>«$><$> 

We  talk  of  this  and  that  “  period  ”  in  the  work  of  a  painter, 
a  poet,  a  sculptor.  Often  the  changes  in  mood  and  technic 
are  marked  and  the  transitions  sharply  defined.  For  the  most 
part  they  are  the  turning  from  the  imagination  to  observa¬ 
tion  and  vice  versa. 

The  brain  is  not  unlike  a  factory;  when  filled  to  over¬ 
flowing  with  raw  material  it  must  close  its  doors  and  work 
up  its  stock;  when  it  has  exhausted  its  store  of  impressions 
it  must  open  its  five  senses  to  receive  new. 

<S>  <$>  <S> 

According  to  Hegel,  the  great  German  philosopher,  there  are 
three  movements  of  the  historical  pendulum;  for  example,  we  have  an 
age  of  materialism  followed  by  an  age  whose  sole  interest  is  in  psy¬ 
chical  phenomena;  this  followed  by  an  age  which  extracts  the  truth 
from  both  of  these  opposite  hypotheses,  the  golden  mean.  Thus,  in 
art,  we  have  the  classical  spirit  for  the  thesis,  the  modern  art  move¬ 
ment,  its  antithesis,  and  we  may  confidently  expect  and  hope  for  an 
age  which  shall  select  the  bold,  fresh  spirit  of  the  modern  movement 
and  infuse  it  into  the  proportion  of  classical  art,  which  shall  be  the 
great  synthesis  of  the  artistic  future.  Thus  the  extravagant  and 
apparently  insane  movement  of  the  Futurist  and  Cubist  will  be  of 
the  greatest  value  in  reviving  art,  putting  red  blood  into  art  again.* 

*  “  The  New  Movement  in  Art  from  a  Philosophical  Standpoint,’* 
by  Theo.  LeFitz  Simons. 


POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


21 


A  man  can  understand  what  is  going  on  about  him  only 
by  a  knowledge  of  what  has  happened  in  the  past  —  the 
wider  his  knowledge  of  past  events,  the  clearer  his  under¬ 
standing  of  present. 

Space  does  not  permit  the  printing  in  detail  the  ridicule 
that  greeted  Turner,  Millet,  Corot,  Courbet,  but  it  is  impor¬ 
tant  to  open  the  eyes  of  the  reader  to  the  fact  that  men  whose 
pictures  are  considered  masterpieces  today,  and  command 
fabulous  sums,  were  met  with  the  same  scorn  and  derision 
that  the  new  men  of  today  meet. 

History  repeats  itself  —  we  accept  as  fine  what  our  fathers 
laughed  at;  our  sons  will  accept  as  fine  what  we  laugh  at, 
and  so  on  to  the  end  of  time. 

You  readers  and  especially  you  museums,  who  are  paying 
tens  of  thousands  for  pictures  by  Manet,  Monet,  Renoir  and 
a  host  of  other  innovators,  take  to  heart  what  follows. 

<$>❖<$> 

In  1874  the  Impressionists  held  their  first  exhibition  in  a 
room  rented  from  a  photographer,  35  Boulevard  des  Capu- 
cines,  Paris.  They  called  themselves,  Socicte  anonyme,  des 
Artistes,  Peintres,  Sculpteurs  et  Graveurs. 

There  were  about  thirty  exhibitors  in  all;  among  them„ 
Pissarro,  Monet,  Sisley,  Renoir,  Berthe  Morisot,  Cezanne,. 
Guillaumin,  who  might  be  called  the  extremists ;  Degas,  Brae- 
quemond  de  Nittis,  Brandon,  Boudin,  Cals,  Gustave  Collin, 
Labouche,  Lepine,  Rouart,  and  others  were  invited  to  take 
the  edge  off  the  novelties  of  the  first  named.  * 

Monet  exhibited  a  picture  named  “Impression;  solid 
levant.”  In  derision  Louis  Leroy  called  an  article  on  the 
exhibition  in  “  Charivari  ”  f  “Exposition  des  Impressionists,” 

*  See  “Manet  and  the  French  Impressionists,”  by  Duret,  p.  112 
et  seq.,  and  a  readable  article,  “  The  Master  Impressionists,”  by 
C.  L.  Borgmeyer.  in  “  Fine  Arts  Journal  ”  for  March,  1913. 

t  April  25,  1874. 


22  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


and  in  spite  of  the  protests  of  the  painters  themselves  the 
name  stuck  —  just  as  the  name  Cubists,  derisively  applied  by 
Matisse,  has  stuck. 

<$><$><$> 

This  exhibition,  which  marked  an  epoch  in  French  art, 
was  a  failure  so  far  as  immediate  results  went.  The  ridicule 
was  such  that  the  better  known  artists,  ashamed  of  being 
caught  in  the  company  of  the  new  men,  “took  good  care  not 
to  run  the  risk  a  second  time.” 

The  pictures  were  subjected  to  all  sorts  of  petty  insults, 
“  such  as  the  placing  of  small  coins  upon  the  frames  in  deri¬ 
sion,  and  jokes  and  jibes.” 

<$><$><$> 

The  next  year  the  Impressionists  held  no  exhibition,  but 
under  dire  need  had  a  sale  at  the  Hotel  Drouot. 

Claude  Monet,  Sisley,  Renoir,  Berthe  Morisot,  Cals,  Cezanne, 
Degas,  Guillaumin,  de  Nittis,  and  Pissarro  were  represented.  There 
were  some  seventy  pictures.  The  pictures  were  disliked  and  for 
some  unknown  reason  the  artists  were  considered  as  hardened  mem¬ 
bers  of  the  community.  They  only  received  laughable  prices.  Even 
the  attempt  to  carry  out  the  auction-room  trick  of  having  friends 
bid  up  the  prices  was  not  carried  out  successfully  and  many  of  the 
pictures  were  bid  in  by  the  penniless  friends  in  this  way,  and  with¬ 
drawn.  Including  these  mistakes  and  the  real  sales  they  realized  not 
much  more  than  $2,000.  In  this  sale  of  1875,  Renoir’s  “  Avant  le 
bain”  brought  $28;  “La  Source,”  $22  (afterwards  sold  for  $14,000); 
“Une  vue  du  Pont  neuf  ”  brought  all  of  $60;  Claude  Monet’s  twenty 
pictures  averaged  from  $40  to  $60  each. 

The  writer  was  offered  “  Avant  le  bain  ”  in  1894  for  $1,200; 
it  has  since  sold  for  $25,000.  In  a  recent  letter  from  M.  George 
Durand-Ruel  he  says: 

All  the  fine  works  of  the  Masters  of  the  Modern  French  School 
have  advanced  very  much  in  value.  The  “  Portrait  of  the  Charpentier 
Family,”  which  is  now  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum,  was  ordered 
from  Renoir  for  three  hundred  francs;  “  La  Source,”  also  by  Renoir, 


POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


23 


was  sold  in  a  sale  in  1878  for  110  francs.  It  has  been  since  bought 
by  the  Prince  de  Wagram  for  75,000  francs,  and  would  be  worth 
today  double  the  amount.  The  “  Port  de  Boulogne,”  by  Manet,  was 
bought  from  Manet  by  my  father  for  800  francs  and  sold  to  Faure, 
who  later  on  sold  it  to  Comte  de  Camondo  for  70,000  francs.  It 
would  be  worth  today  about  250,000  francs.  “  Le  Dejeuner  dans 
1’ Atelier,”  which  my  father  bought  from  Manet  and  which  we  had 
on  exhibition  at  389  Fifth  Avenue  in  1895,  asking  price  at  that  time 
$7,000,  was  sold  afterwards  to  M.  Pellerin  and  bought  two  years  ago 
for  the  Munich  Museum  for  $60,000. 

Daubigny  was  one  of  the  few  men  who  appreciated 
Monet;  he  bought  his  pictures  and  urged  others  to  buy. 

When  he  died  in  1878  a  sale  of  his  effects  was  held. 
Duret  says: 

I  knew  the  “  Canal  a  Saardam,”  which  seemed  to  me  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  things  Monet  had  painted;  I  made  up  my  mind  to  go 
to  the  auction  and  try  to  buy  it.  The  sale  took  place  but  the  picture 
was  not  put  up.  I  supposed  that  the  heirs  had  decided  to  keep  it  as 
a  work  they  understood  and  appreciated.  One  Sunday,  fifteen  days 
later,  happening  by  chance  in  L’Hotel  Drouot  I  went  into  a  room 
filled  with  unfinished  works,  old  and  grimy  canvases,  and  a  mass  of 
stuff  —  in  a  word,  all  the  worthless  debris  of  a  studio  —  and  there  at 
one  side  the  “  Canal  a  Saardam  ”  of  Claude  Monet.  ...  I  inquired 
and  learned  that  the  room  contained  the  scourings  of  Daubigny’s 
studio,  sent  in  for  sale  anonymously.  It  was  there  the  heirs  had  sent 
the  picture  of  Monet,  excluding  it  from  the  regular  sale  because  they 
thought  it  would  bring  discredit.  It  was  knocked  down  to  me  at  the 
auction  for  $16.  In  1894,  when  my  collection  was  sold,  the  picture 
was  bought  by  M.  Durand-Ruel  for  $1,100.  In  1901  it  was  withdrawn 
from  a  sale  at  the  price  of  $6,000. 


<$>  <$>  <e> 

The  second  exhibition  was  held  in  1876  in  the  galleries 
of  Durand-Ruel.  In  passing,  tribute  should  be  paid  to  this 
great  dealer  and  remarkable  man  who  backed  his  belief  in 
the  new  men  with  all  he  possessed,  to  the  jeopardizing  of 
his  business,  and  who,  happily,  still  lives  to  enjoy  the  con¬ 
firmation  of  his  judgment. 


24  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


Of  this  exhibition  Albert  Wolff,  in  “Figaro,”  said: 

The  Rue  Peletier  is  unfortunate.  Following  upon  the  burning 
of  the  Opera  House,  a  new  disaster  has  fallen  upon  the  quarter. 
There  has  just  been  opened  at  Durand-Ruel’s  an  exhibition  of  what 
is  said  to  be  painting.  The  innocent  passerby  enters,  and  a  cruel 
spectacle  meets  his  terrified  gaze.  Here  five  or  six  lunatics,  of  whom 
one  is  a  woman  (Berthe  Morisot)  have  chosen  to  exhibit  their  works. 
There  are  people  who  burst  out  into  laughter  in  front  of  these  objects. 
Personally  I  am  saddened  by  them.  These  so-called  artists  style 
themselves  Intransigeants,  Impressionists.  They  take  paint,  brushes 
and  canvases;  they  throw  a  few  colors  on  to  the  canvas  at  random, 
and  then  they  sign  the  lot.  In  the  same  way  the  inmates  of  a  mad¬ 
house  pick  up  the  stones  on  the  road  and  believe  they  have  found 
diamonds. 

All  of  which  recalls  what  Ruskin  said  of  Whistler,  and 
the  following  choice  bits  about  Turner. 

They  (referring  to  two  of  his  famous  pictures)  “mean 
nothing.  They  are  produced  as  if  by  throwing  handfuls  of 
white  and  blue  and  red  at  the  canvas,  letting  what  chanced 
to  stick,  stick,  and  then  shadowing  in  some  forms  to  make 
the  appearance  of  a  picture.” 

Another  picture  “  only  excites  ridicule.”  “  No.  353  caps  all 
for  absurdity,  without  even  any  of  the  redeeming  qualities  of 
the  rest.”  .  .  .  “the  whole  thing  is  truly  ludicrous.”* 

Again  of  Turner, 

“  This  gentleman  has  on  former  occasions  chosen  to  paint  with 
cream,  or  chocolate,  yolk  of  egg,  or  currant  jelly  —  there  he  uses 
his  whole  array  of  kitchen-stuff.  ...  We  cannot  fancy  the  state  of 
eye  which  will  permit  anyone  cognizant  of  art  to  treat  these  rhap¬ 
sodies  as  Lord  Byron  treated  “  Christabel;  ”  neither  can  we  believe 
in  any  future  revolution  which  shall  bring  the  world  round  to  the 
opinion  of  the  worshipper,  if  worshippers  such  frenzies  still  possess.”  t 

In  1877  the  Impressionists  held  their  third  exhibition, 
again  in  Durand-Ruel’s  galleries.  This  proved  more  audacious 
than  the  first. 

*  “  Library  Gazette,”  May  14,  1842,  p.  331. 

t  “  Athenaeum,”  May  14,  1842,  p.  433. 


POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


25 


“It  gave  rise  to  an  extraordinary  outburst  of  laughter, 
contempt,  indignation,  and  disgust.  It  became  a  notable 
event  in  Parisian  life.  It  was  talked  about  in  the  cafes  of  the 
boulevards,  in  clubs,  and  in  drawing  rooms,  as  some  remark¬ 
able  phenomenon.  Numbers  of  people  went  to  see  it.  They 
were  not  attracted  by  any  sort  of  artistic  interest ;  they  simply 
went  in  order  to  give  themselves  that  unpleasant  thrill  which 
is  produced  by  the  sight  of  anything  eccentric  and  extrava¬ 
gant.  Hence  there  was  much  laughter  and  gesticulation  on 
the  part  of  the  visitors.  They  went  in  a  mood  of  hilarity; 
they  began  to  laugh  while  still  in  the  street;  they  laughed 
as  they  were  going  up  the  stairs;  they  were  convulsed  with 
laughter  the  first  moment  they  cast  their  eyes  upon  the 
pictures.” 

A  critic  in  “La  Chronique”  said: 

They  provoke  laughter,  and  yet  they  are  lamentable.  They  dis¬ 
play  the  profoundest  ignorance  of  drawing,  of  composition,  and  of 
color.  When  children  amuse  themselves  with  a  box  of  colors  and 
a  piece  of  paper  they  do  better. 

Cezanne  was  the  one  among  them  who  both  now  and  for  a 
long  time  afterwards  excited  the  most  detestation.  It  is 
not  too  much  to  say  that  he  was  regarded  almost  as  some¬ 
thing  monstrous  and  inhuman. 

After  the  close  of  the  exhibition  a  sale  was  had  at  the 
Hotel  Drouot. 

“  Forty-five  canvases  of  Caillebotte,  Pissarro,  Sisley,  and  Renoir 
realized  only  $1,522  —  an  average  of  less  than  $34  each.  The  sale 
took  place  in  the  presence  of  an  amused  and  contemptuous  public, 
who  received  the  pictures,  as  they  were  put  up  at  auction,  with  groans. 
They  amused  themselves  with  passing  several  of  them  round  from 
hand  to  hand,  turned  upside  down.” 

Sixteen  Renoirs  brought  $400.  The  next  year  “le  Pont 
de  Chateau”  sold  for  $8,  “Jeune  fille  dans  un  Jardin”  for  $6> 
and  “La  Femme  au  Chat”  for  $16. 


26  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 

Sisley  sold  eleven  for  1,387  francs,  or  $25  each.  These 
prices  meant  disaster  and  the  painter  was  in  great  distress. 
In  1878  he  wrote  Theodore  Duret  a  pathetic  letter  asking 
^  Duret  could  not  find  some  friend  who  would  have  enough 
confidence  in  his,  Sisley’s,  future  to  pay  $100  per  month  for 
six  months  and  receive  in  return  thirty  pictures. 

“  At  the  expiration  of  six  months,  if  he  is  not  disposed  to  keep  the 
thirty  pictures,  he  can  take  the  chances  on  a  sale  of  twenty,  get  back 
the  money  he  paid  me,  and  have  ten  pictures  left  for  nothing.” 

<$>  <$>  <S> 

During  the  New  York  Exhibition  the  Metropolitan 
Museum  bought  a  Cezanne  for  something  like  $8,000.  The 
price  of  a  more  important  was  $46,000.  In  the  seventies  in 
Paris  there  was  a  dealer  in  artists’  materials  called  Pere 
Tanguy  who  had  a  little  shop  in  rue  de  Navarin.  In  1879 
when  Cezanne  left  Paris  for  the  country  he  left  his  pictures 
for  Pere  Tanguy  to  sell.  Duret  went  there  to  buy  some.  He 
found  them  stacked  against  the  wall,  piled  according  to  their 
dimensions,  the  small  ones  $8  each,  the  large  ones  $20. 

^ 

This  is  an  old,  old  story  —  the  story  of  nearly  every  great 
artist  of  whom  we  have  any  knowledge. 

The  world  seems  to  need  perspective  to  appreciate  a  great 
man. 

<$><§><$> 

We  are  prone  to  think  the  great  men  have  just  passed 
away ;  we  do  not  realize  that  men  just  as  great  in  one  way  or 
another  are  being  born  every  day. 

The  great  man  usually  differs  from  the  ordinary  man  only 
in  his  one  greatness.  On  many  sides  he  may  be  a  very  com¬ 
monplace  man,  a  petty  man,  but  on  his  great  side  he  is  so  far 


CEZANNE 
Portrait  of  Self 


CEZANNE 
Village  Street 


POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


27 


out  of  the  ordinary  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  understand 
him  close  to.  The  fact  that  he  is  doing  things  in  an  extra¬ 
ordinary  way  causes  us  instinctively  to  distrust  and  condemn 
him. 

<$><$><$> 

One  of  the  early  buyers  of  Impressionist  pictures  was  a 
distinguished  Chicago  woman,  and  her  collection  today  con¬ 
tains  some  of  the  finest  Monets,  Renoirs,  and  Degases  in 
existence.  When  her  friends  heard  she  had  bought  some 
forty  or  fifty  Monets  they  shook  their  heads  in  dismay  at 
such  folly.  This  was  not  many  years  ago,  less  than  thirty, 
and  now  the  pictures  are  in  demand  the  world  over  and  worth 
ten,  fifteen,  twenty  times  what  they  cost. 

The  same  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  shook  their  heads 
at  the  Monets  in  1890  shook  their  heads  at  the  Cubists  in 
1913.  If  they  live  another  quarter  of  a  century  they  will  once 
more  shake  their  heads  at  the  new  art  of  that  day  —  for  such 
is  life. 

<$>  <S>  <$> 

Neo-Impressionism  was  the  logical  outcome  of  Impres¬ 
sionism.  It  was  simply  the  attempt  to  paint  light  in  still 
more  scientific  fashion,  by  the  use  of  the  primary  colors  laid 
on  in  fine  points  in  such  a  manner  that  at  the  proper  distance 
the  points  fuse  and  produce  the  tone  desired. 

The  use  of  small  dabs  or  points  of  color  instead  of  brush 
strokes  gained  for  the  movement  the  name  “  P ointillism.” 

Neo-Impressionism  was  not  a  reaction  from  Impression¬ 
ism  but  an  attempt  to  advance  still  further  the  painting  of 
light  effects. 

Seurat  and  Signac  simply  attempted  to  out-Monet  Monet. 
They  were  the  last  word  in  Impressionism.  After  them  the 
reaction  —  Post-Impressionism,  something  fundamentally  dif¬ 
ferent  from  and  opposed  to  the  very  theory  of  Impressionism. 


28  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


It  is,  perhaps,  a  national  characteristic  of  the  French  to  be  intense 
on  all  they  undertake,  and  if  there  is  one  quality  common  to  the 
generation  of  painters  who  followed  the  earlier  impressionists  it  is 
intensity.  This  earnest  passionateness  has  produced  developments 
in  two  main  directions,  towards  more  intense  luminosity  and  towards 
more  intense  simplification.  The  first  is  exemplified  in  the  work  of 
the  Pointillists,  who  carried  it  to  its  logical  conclusion  the  division  of 
tones,  and  built  up  their  pictures  with  points  or  square  touches  of 
pure  colour.  Paul  Signac,  for  example,  is  dazzling  in  his  scientific 
presentment  of  the  power  of  light.  It  is  difficult  to  believe  that  lumi¬ 
nosity  can  be  carried  further  than  in  his  radiant  canvases  whose  force 
makes  the  most  brilliant  Turner  appear  pale  and  weak  in  comparison. 
Signac’s  method,  it  may  be  noted  in  passing,  is  a  square  touch  of 
pure  colour  as  opposed  to  the  circular  spots  of  Seurat,  the  inventor 
of  Pointillism,  Theo  van  Rysselberg,  and  the  late  Henri-Esmond 
Cross. 

If  Signac  has  reached  the  limit  in  intense  luminosity,  Henri 
Matisse,  Otho  Friesz,  and  Andre  Derain,  among  others,  stand  for 
intense  simplification.  But  it  is  still  a  little  too  early  to  deal  with 
their  astonishing  works,  and  any  one  sincerely  desirous  of  compre¬ 
hending  the  aims  of  these  revolutionary  painters  may  be  recom¬ 
mended  to  commence  his  course  of  initiation  by  a  serious  study 
of  the  works  of  Cezanne  and  Gauguin.  These  two  deceased  painters 
are  to  their  younger  comrades  what  Marx  and  Kropotkin  are  to  the 
young  social  reformers  of  today.* 

We  are  constantly  led  astray  by  words  —  at  best  they  are 
imperfect  instruments  of  thought. 

As  has  been  often  noted  in  the  literature  of  painting,  all 
art  is  impressionistic  in  the  broad  and  fine  sense  of  the  term. 
Hence  to  divide  painters  into  Impressionists  and  Non-Impres¬ 
sionists  involves  a  contradiction. 

In  painting  his  purely  imaginative  creations  of  light  effects 
Turner  was  as  much  of  an  Impressionist  as  Monet  in  painting 
his  closely  observed  light  effects. 

In  painting  his  ideal  peasants  Millet  yielded  as  freely  to 
his  impressions  as  did  Manet  in  painting  his  bull-fighters. 

From  one  point  of  view  the  difference  is  one  of  degree 

♦“Revolution  in  Art,”  by  Frank  Rutter,  p.  17,  18. 


POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


29 


rather  than  of  kind,  namely,  the  degree  to  which  the  painter 
lets  his  impressions  sink  in  and  become  a  part  of  him. 

Monet  attempted  to  paint  light  exactly  as  he  saw  it,  reduc¬ 
ing  the  personal  equation  —  that  is,  himself  —  to  the  lowest 
possible  significance.  Turner  painted  light  as  he  saw  and 
imagined  it;  he  allowed  his  impressions  to  sink  in,  to  become 
a  part  of  him,  then  he  created  a  picture.  And  his  pictures 
vary  greatly  in  the  proportion  of  observation  to  imagination; 
in  some  he  painted  almost  as  direct  and  as  coldly  from  nature 
as  Monet,  in  others  he  barely  used  his  observations  as  ground¬ 
work  upon  which  to  let  his  imagination  run  riot. 

It  is  not  strange  that  so  erratic,  so  eccentric  a  genius 
bewildered  the  public  and  the  critics  of  his  day,  for  in  the 
painting  of  light  he  was  a  generation  ahead  of  his  time, 
and  in  the  attempt  to  paint  pure  color  harmonies  he  was  two 
generations  ahead. 

<$><$><$> 

Take,  for  instance,  his  “  Sunrise,  with  a  Sea  Monster,” 
and  “Sunrise,  with  Boat  between  Headlands,”  in  the  Tate 
Gallery.  If  these  pictures  had  been  hung  anonymously  in  the 
International  Exhibition  in  New  York  they  would  have  ex¬ 
cited  more  laughter  than  any  of  the  Cubists.  They  are  simply 
color  schemes  compared  with  which  an  “  Improvisation  ”  by 
Kandinsky  is  a  legible  message. 

A  Turner  in  the  National  or  Tate  Gallery  is  accepted  as 
a  masterpiece;  the  same  picture  hung  anonymously  with  a 
lot  of  extreme  Post-Impressionists  in  the  Grafton  Gallery 
would  be  the  occasion  of  much  hilarity. 

<$>  <$>  <8> 

While  all  painting  is  more  or  less  impressionistic,  in  the 
art  literature  of  the  day  the  term  “Impressionists”  is  appro¬ 
priated  to  the  school  of  men  who  paint  in  the  open  direct 
from  nature,  and  who  attempt  to  record  faithfully,  many 


30  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


almost  mechanically,  their  visual  impressions  of  objects  and 
light-effects. 

Hence  the  term  Po^-Impressionism  means  not  an  accen¬ 
tuation  or  a  further  development  of  Impressionism  such  as 
A^o-Impressionism  or  “pointillism,”  but  a  reaction. 

When  Impressionism  has  had  its  day  and  done  its  best, 
then  something  different  must  come,  and  logically  that  some¬ 
thing  different  is  a  return  to  the  art  that  is  the  antithesis  of 
Impressionism  —  the  art  of  the  imagination  —  a  creative  art.* 

<$><$><$> 

For  a  generation  the  poetic,  the  imaginative  work  of  the 
Barbizon  School  —  to  use  this  one  school  as  typical  of  the 
painting  of  practically  the  entire  western  world  in  the  sixties 
and  seventies  —  held  sway. 

Then  came  the  return  to  nature,  the  Impressionists,  and 
for  a  generation  they  held  sway. 

Now,  apparently,  we  are  at  the  beginning  of  a  new  move¬ 
ment,  a  return  to  imaginative  art,  and  the  evidences  of  this 
return  are  seen  not  only  in  painting  but  in  decoration,  in 


*  The  interest  expressed  in  much  impressionist  painting  is  only 
an  interest  of  curiosity.  The  painter  represents  facts  that  he  has  only 
just  noticed.  He  is  like  a  clever  journalist  who  makes  an  article  out 
of  his  first  observations  of  a  new  country.  But  the  aim  of  the  Post- 
Impressionist  is  to  substitute  the  deeper  and  more  lasting  emotional 
interest  for  the  interest  of  curiosity. 

Like  the  great  Chinese  artists,  they  have  tried  to  know  thoroughly 
what  they  paint  before  they  begin  to  paint  it,  and  out  of  the  fulness 
of  their  knowledge  to  choose  only  what  has  an  emotional  interest 
for  them.  Their  representations  have  the  brevity  and  concentrated 
force  of  the  poet’s  descriptions.  He  does  not  go  out  into  the  coun¬ 
try  with  a  note-book  and  then  versify  all  that  he  has  observed.  His 
descriptions  are  often  empty  of  fact,  just  because  he  only  tells  us 
what  is  of  emotional  interest  to  himself  and  relevant  to  the  subject 
of  his  poem;  and  they  are  justified,  not  by  the  information  they 
convey,  but  by  the  emotion  they  communicate  through  the  rhythm 
of  sound  and  words.  The  Post-Impressionists  try  to  represent  as 
the  poet  describes.  They  try  to  give  every  picture  ait  emotional 
subject-matter  and  to  make  all  representation  relevant  to  it. 

“The  Post-Impressionists,”  by  A.  Chilton-Brock,  “Burlington 
Magazine,”  January,  1911. 


POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


31 


sculpture,  in  music,  in  drama,  in  literature,  in  fiction,  in 
philosophy,  in  medicine,  in  business,  in  politics. 

There  is  a  demand  for  ideals  as  distinguished  from  residts. 

<$>❖<$> 

We  have  learned  that  the  proper  end  of  poetry  is  the  expression 
of  emotion,  to  which  all  reasoning  and  statement  of  fact  should  be 
subsidiary;  but  we  have  not  learned  that  painting  should  have  the 
same  end,  using  representation  only  as  a  means  to  that  end,  and 
representing  only  those  facts  of  reality  which  have  emotional  asso¬ 
ciations  for  the  painter.  In  primitive  pictures,  it  is  true,  we  look 
for  the  expression  of  emotion  rather  than  for  illusion,  and  that  is 
the  reason  why  so  many  people  get  a  real  pleasure  from  primitive  art. 
They  judge  it  by  the  right  standard,  and  ask  of  it  what  it  offers  to 
them.  But  from  modern  pictures  they  demand  illusion  —  that  is  to 
say,  the  kind  of  representation  they  are  used  to;  and  when  they  do 
not  get  it  they  accuse  the  artist  of  incompetence.* 

❖  <$>  <$> 

In  painting  this  reaction,  this  tendency  —  call  it  what  you 
please  —  has  taken  many  forms,  one  of  which  is  Cubism. 

While  this  book  devotes  much  space  to  Cubism,  it  is 
solely  because  in  its  extreme  development  it  is,  from  a  coldly 
critical  point  of  view,  the  most  abstract  word  yet  uttered  in 
painting,  it  is  the  farthest  removed  from  impressionism,  and 
therefore  serves  admirably  to  illustrate  a  discussion  of  the 
philosophy  of  Post-Impressionism. 

In  a  book  like  this,  written  as  an  off-hand  comment  upon 
what  is  now  going  on  in  the  world  of  art  —  in  the  world 
generally,  for  that  matter  —  it  would  be  quite  impracticable 
to  follow  the  development  of  even  the  principal  lines  of 
human  activity;!  hence  the  works  and  theories  of  the  Cubists 
have  been  chosen  as  typical  of  radical  and  revolutionary  ideas 
and  the  attempt  is  made  to  find  wherein  these  works  and 

*  “  The  Post-Impressionists,”  by  A.  Chilton-Brock,  “  Burlington 
Magazine,”  January,  1911. 

f  In  another  book,  “  The  New  Competition,”  the  writer  has  at¬ 
tempted  this  in  relation  to  business  and  economics. 


32  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


ideas  are  not  so  radical  and  extravagant  as  they  seem,  but 
are,  in  fact,  only  an  illustration  of  what  is  going  on  in  the 
minds  of  men  generally. 

If  the  painter  who  laughs  at  a  Cubist  painting  and  de¬ 
nounces  it  will  only  stop  to  think  he  will  find  one  of  two 
things  true,  he  himself  is  either  advancing  in  his  art  or  he 
is  not.  If  he  is  not,  there  is  nothing  further  to  be  said,  his 
attitude  toward  the  Cubist  painting  is  quite  consistent;  but 
if  he  is  advancing,  if  his  style,  his  technic,  his  point  of  view 
are  changing,  however  slightly,  from  year  to  year,  then  he 
should  be  exceedingly  cautious  how  he  ridicules  or  condemns, 
for  without  knowing  it  he  may  be  traveling  the  highroad, 
one  of  the  interesting  byways  of  which  is  Cubism. 

Most  painters  of  sixty  who  are  now  Impressionists  and 
who  ridicule  Cubists,  if  cross-questioned  would  be  obliged  to 
confess  that  thirty-four  years  ago  they  ridiculed  the  men  in 
whose  footsteps  they  have  since  followed  and  whom  they 
now  recognize  as  masters. 

<$><$><$> 

In  the  course  of  our  discussion  we  shall  have  occasion 
to  speak  of  the  Futurists  and  other  extremists,  for  they  all 
are  part  of  the  one  big  reaction,  they  are  all  Post-Impression¬ 
ists,  and  all  have  something  to  say  worth  hearing,  but  the 
Cubists  serve  our  purpose  best  because  their  pictures,  from 
an  argumentative  point  of  view,  are  more  tangible,  and  their 
theories  have  been  worked  out  in  print  in  plain  terms. 


Ill 


LES  FAUVES 

EVERY  development  bears  within  the  seeds  of  its  dis¬ 
solution  and  the  germs  of  its  succession. 

The  seeds  of  the  dissolution  and  the  germs  of  the  suc¬ 
cession  of  Impressionism  were  Les  Fauves  —  the  Savages,  the 
Wild  Ones,  as  you  please. 

The  philosophical  student  of  the  history  of  art  has  no 
trouble  in  tracing  at  any  time  the  following  currents: 

A.  The  main  stream  which  includes  all  art  developments 
from  the  profoundest  and  most  permanent  to  the  most  fleet¬ 
ing  and  superficial,  from  the  soberest  to  the  most  extrava¬ 
gant. 

B.  B.  +.  Within  the  main  current  lesser  currents  of  such 
magnitude  that  they  frequently  seem  to  dominate  —  and  often 
do  obscure  the  direction  of  —  the  main  current;  as,  for  in¬ 
stance,  Impressionism  dominated  the  art  of  France  and 
influenced  the  art  of  the  entire  western  world  in  the  final 
years  of  the  last  century.  These  lesser  currents  have  their 
effect  on  the  main  current,  though  their  ultimate  effect  is 
never  so  revolutionary  as  their  enthusiasts  believe;  the  good 
in  them  is  absorbed,  the  meretricious  rejected. 

C.  C.  C.  -f-.  Surface  manifestations  of  all  kinds,  often  so 
violent  they  disguise  not  only  the  main  current,  but  the  im¬ 
portant  subsidiary  currents,  and  lead  men  to  believe  for  the 
moment  that  art  is  reversing  itself,  that  all  that  has  been 
done  is  being  undone,  that  chaos  is  taking  the  place  of  order. 
These  subsidiary  movements  are  with  us  always,  evident  in 

33 


34  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


every  exhibition;  they  are  the  experiments,  the  extravagances 
of  each  generation,  of  each  decade,  of  each  year.  Some  of 
them  contain  so  much  of  truth  they  develop  into  B.  —  larger 
currents  —  “  movements ;  ”  others  are  of  such  ephemeral  im¬ 
portance  they  cause  their  sensations  of  the  hour  and  pass 
away,  leaving  behind  scarce  distinguishable  traces. 

It  is  these  last  movements  which,  because  they  are  new 
and  strange,  so  impress  critics  and  public  that  observation 
loses  its  sense  of  proportion;  the  force  of  the  main  current 
(A.)  is  lost  sight  of,  and  the  strength  of  subsidiary  currents 
( B .  B.  -J-)  is  overlooked. 

The  newest  movements  ( C .  C.  C.  +)  are  usually  either 
too  bitterly  denounced  or  too  widely  praised,  their  true  re¬ 
lationship  is  not  perceived;  all  sense  of  perspective  is  lost 
in  the  immediate  presence  of  the  startling. 

There  are  no  hard  and  fast  lines  dividing  any  of  these 
currents  and  movements.  When  and  where  they  begin  no 
one  can  say;  when  and  where  they  end  no  one  can  tell. 

<$>  <$>  <$> 

Impressionism  is  identified  with  Monet  more  than  any 
other  painter,  because  all  his  life  long  he  has  been  the  stead¬ 
fast  and  consistent  exponent  of  extreme  theories  regarding 
the  painting  of  light  effects. 

But  Impressionism,  even  the  painting  of  light  effects,  had 
its  beginning  long  before  Monet ;  with  the  beginning  of  paint¬ 
ing  itself,  the  germs  were  there. 

Likewise  the  germs  of  every  other  movement,  however 
extravagant  and  superficial,  could  probably  be  found  in  the 
work  of  some  man  or  men  in  another  age  and  country. 

What  happens  is  that  a  combination  of  favoring  condi¬ 
tions  at  a  given  time  concentrates  human  efforts  and  human 
attention  upon  a  particular  mode,  technic,  or  theory  and 
brings  it  to  the  fore. 


LES  FAUVES 


35 


The  names  of  Turner,  Manet,  Whistler,  have  been  cited 
as  illustrations  of  geniuses  so  comprehensive  they  link  sev¬ 
eral  movements,  several  decades,  together. 

To  these  should  be  added  the  name  of  Degas  in  painting 
and  that  of  Rodin  in  sculpture. 

These  men  have  done  things  far  ahead  of  their  own  times, 
they  have  done  things  their  own  times  not  only  did  not 
understand,  but  ridiculed  and  decried.  It  was  only  a  few 
years  ago  that  Paris  —  yes,  Paris  —  rejected  Rodin’s  Balzac, 
by  many  considered  the  greatest  of  his  works. 

These  men  illustrate  what  we  mean  when  we  say  that 
every  period  in  art  contains  within  itself  the  seeds  of  its 
dissolution  and  the  germs  of  its  succession.  A  movement 
may  seem  so  dominating,  so  strong,  so  true,  that  people 
exclaim,  “  It  is  the  final  word,  it  will  last  forever,”  but  at 
the  very  moment  somewhere,  in  obscurity,  there  will  be  men 
doing  things  that  are  diametrically  opposed  to  the  prevaling 
current,  things  that  are  destined  to  be  the  masterpieces  of 
a  new  development. 

<$><$><$> 

Cezanne  exhibited  with  the  Impressionists  in  1874  and 
was  counted  one  of  them;  yet  in  a  profound  sense  he  was 
the  first  of  the  Post-Impressionists. 

While  he  was  classed  with  the  Impressionists  he  had 
little  in  common  with  them,  practically  nothing  in  common 
with  Monet. 

All  his  life  Monet  has  been  busy  with  the  surface  of 
things;  all  his  life  Cezanne  was  busy  with  the  substance  of 
things. 

When  Monet  paints  a  landscape  he  paints  the  grass  and 
the  flowers  and  the  trees  one  sees  bathed  in  sunlight;  when 
Cezanne  painted  a  landscape  it  was  an  elemental  present¬ 
ment  of  nature  herself. 


36  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


Cezanne  was  borne  in  Aix  in  1839  and  died  in  the  same 
place  in  1905. 

Having  inherited  just  sufficient  to  live  very  modestly,  he 
devoted  his  entire  life  to  trying  to  fathom  the  secrets  of 
nature  and  paint  her  innermost  truths. 

The  fact  that  his  pictures  did  not  sell,  that  even  his 
friends  did  not  understand  him,  did  not  swerve  him  a  hair’s 
breadth  from  the  path  he  had  chosen  —  to  paint,  to  learn  how 
to  paint,  simpler  and  truer  interpretations. 

He  lived  so  isolated  from  his  neighbors  that  a  visitor  to 
Aix  in  1904  had  great  difficulty  in  finding  his  residence;  was 
obliged,  in  fact,  to  resort  to  the  list  of  voters  at  the  town  hall. 
In  the  eccentricities  of  his  daily  life  he  was  not  unlike  Turner, 
but  in  his  art  he  indulged  no  such  brilliant  fancies. 

He  was  a  consistent  painter.  He  never  permitted  his 
imagination  to  run  away  with  him;  he  constantly  checked 
his  work  by  the  closest  and  most  penetrating  observation  of 
nature. 

His  manner  of  work  is  described  by  a  devoted  follower:* 

He  was  working  on  a  canvas  showing  three  decapitated  heads  on 
an  Oriental  carpet.  He  had  worked  a  month  every  morning  from 
six  o’clock  until  half  past  ten.  His  daily  routine  was,  rise  very 
early,  paint  in  his  studio  from  six  to  ten-thirty,  breakfast,  and  go 
out  immediately  into  the  surrounding  country  to  study  nature  until 
five.  On  his  return  he  had  supper  and  went  at  once  to  bed.  I  have 
seen  him  so  exhausted  by  his  day’s  work  that  he  could  neither  talk 
nor  listen. 

“What  is  lacking,”  he  said  to  me  while  contemplating  the  three 
heads,  “is  the  realisation.  Perhaps  I  shall  get  it,  but  I  am  old  and 
it  may  be  that  I  shall  die  without  having  reached  the  highest  point: 
To  realise!  like  the  Venetians.” 

Not  unlike  the  lament  of  Hokusai  at  seventy  over  his 
imperfections  as  a  draftsman. 

*  “  Souvenirs  Sur  Paul  Cezanne,”  by  Emile  Bernard,  1912. 


CEZANNE 
Still  Life 


.i 


1 


LES  FAUVES  37 

One’s  first  impression  from  even  half-tone  reproductions 
of  his  paintings  is  a  feeling  of  construction.  I  have  before  me 
a  still-life  —  the  fruit,  the  bowl,  the  piece  of  stuff  are  not 
simply  painted  but  built  up  as  firmly  and  scientifically  as  a 
builder  builds  a  house  —  the  materiality  as  well  as  the  beauty 
is  there. 

It  is  just  the  same  with  his  portraits,  his  figure  pieces 
and  his  landscapes;  one  cannot  escape  the  sense  of  the  sub¬ 
stance,  the  fundamental  reality. 

And  to  attain  it  all  he  used  the  simplest  and  most  direct 
technic,  not  a  brush-stroke,  not  a  line,  not  a  spot  of  color 
wasted. 

It  was  these  characteristics  which  made  him  a  profound 
Impressionist,  in  the  wider  significance  of  the  term,  but  also 
the  first  of  the  Fauves,  the  father  of  the  revolt  from  Impres¬ 
sionism  in  its  more  superficial  significance. 

<§><$><$> 


With  the  name  of  Cezanne  are  associated  the  names  of 
two  men  whose  work  shows  his  influence,  VanGogh  and 
Gauguin,  and  one  whose  work  is  wholly  different,  Henri 
Rousseau,  the  custom  house  employee  who  painted  without 
instruction;  later,  but  also  conspicuously,  Henri  Matisse. 

These  are  the  leaders  of  Fauvism. 

<$><$>  <S> 

At  the  exhibition  in  New  York  one  had  the  unusual  op¬ 
portunity  of  seeing  in  close  contact  many  works  of  all  four. 
It  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  paintings  more  different  in 
inspiration  and  technic.  They  had  but  one  thing  in  common 
—  a  pronounced  reaction  from,  not  to  say  revolt  against, 
Impressionism,  evidenced  particularly  in  the  use  of  color 
constructively  and  decoratively  rather  than  imitatively. 


38  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


Color  force  is  a  feature  of  the  new  inspiration. 

The  painters  of  today  have  discovered  anew  the  world's  coloring. 
We  now  recognize  everywhere  the  power  and  vivaciousness,  the 
thousandfold  freshness,  and  the  infinite  changefulness  of  color.  To 
us  colors  now  talk  directly;  they  are  not  drowned  by  covering  tints, 
not  hide-bound  by  a  preconceived  harmony.  An  instrument  has  thus 
been  given,  wherein  innumerable  melodies  still  slumber. 

Color  is  a  means  of  representation  not  only  of  what  is  colored, 
but  also  of  the  thick  and  the  thin;  of  the  solid  and  the  liquid;  of  the 
light  and  of  the  heavy;  of  the  hard  and  of  the  soft;  of  the  corporeal 
and  of  the  spacious.  Cezanne  models  with  color;  with  tinted  color 
surfaces  he  builds  a  landscape.  The  proper  couching  of  colored  planes 
can  force  upon  us  the  impression  of  depth;  colored  transitions  call 
forth  the  impression  of  ascent  and  of  motion;  spots  scattered  here 
and  there  give  the  impression  of  sprightly  vivaciousness. 

Color  is  a  means  of  expression  talking  directly  to  the  soul.  Deep 
mourning  and  soft  glowing,  warmth  of  heart  and  cold  clarity,  con¬ 
fused  dumbness,  flames  of  passion,  sweet  devotion  —  all  conditions 
and  all  outbursts  of  the  soul  —  what  can  communicate  them  to  us 
more  forcefully  and  more  directly  than  a  few  colors  with  their 
effect  exerted  through  the  eye?  As  tones  draw  us  with  them  with¬ 
out  our  will  and  without  meeting  resistance,  so  does  color  subjugate 
us:  now  it  fills  us  with  deepest  sorrow,  then  again  we  are  all  glowing 
under  its  influence. 

Color  is  a  means  of  composition.  The  force  of  sensuous  designa¬ 
tion,  the  expressive  power  of  the  soul,  both  must  combine  and  make 
for  an  always  new,  always  original,  and  always  unique  harmony.  The 
law  of  color  beauty  has  not  as  yet  been  fathomed  by  the  intellect. 
It  is  being  created  by  feeling  and  by  subconscious  experience.* 

<$>  <$>  3> 

“Cezanne,  Gauguin,  and  VanGogh  were  men  of  very 
different  minds;  but  they  were  alike  in  this,  that  they  all 
attempted  to  subordinate  representation  to  expression,  and 
were  all  determined  to  express  only  their  own  emotional 
experience.  Cezanne  could  not  content  himself  with  impres¬ 
sionist  triumphs  of  representation.  Above  all,  he  revolted 
from  the  Impressionist  insistence  on  the  momentary  aspect 
of  reality.  He  was,  so  to  speak,  a  kind  of  Plato  among  the 

*“Das  Neue  Bild,”  Otto  Fischer,  11-12.  Several  of  the  half-tone 
reproductions  which  we  use  are  from  this  work  on  Munich  art. 


LES  FAUVES 


39 


artists  of  his  time,  believing  that  in  reality  there  is  a  perma¬ 
nent  order,  a  design  which  reveals  itself  to  the  eye  and  mind 
of  the  artist,  and  which  it  is  his  business  to  expose  in  his 
work.  But  this  design  he  was  determined  to  discover  in 
reality  itself,  not  in  the  works  of  other  artists.  His  task  was 
enormously  difficult  because  he  would  take  nothing  whatever 
at  second  hand.  Nature  must  tell  him  all  her  own  secrets; 
and  he  would  not  listen  even  to  her  when  she  told  him 
commonplaces.  He  was  not  interested,  so  to  speak,  in  her 
caprices,  in  her  chance  effects  of  beauty  that  anyone  can  see. 
He  painted  landscape  as  Titian  or  Rembrandt  painted  por¬ 
traits;  searching  always  for  the  permanent  character  of  the 
place,  for  that  which,  independent  of  weather  or  time,  dis¬ 
tinguished  it  from  other  places.  This  permanent  element 
he  found  in  structure  and  mass,  but,  like  Titian  and  Rem¬ 
brandt,  he  would  not  abstract  these  from  color.  For  him, 
as  for  these  masters,  structure  and  mass  revealed  themselves 
in  color,  and  all  these  must  be  verified  by  incessant  observa¬ 
tion.  .  .  .  For  him  a  hill  is  not  a  screen  for  the  play  of  light; 
it  is  built  up  of  earth  and  rock.  Nor  is  a  tree  a  mere  rippling 
surface,  but  a  living  thing  with  the  structure  of  its  growth. 
Everywhere  he  looks  for  character;  yet  he  subordinates  the 
character  of  details  to  the  character  of  the  whole.  And  the 
character  of  the  whole  means  for  him  its  permanent  char¬ 
acter,  which  he  expresses  in  a  design  not  imposed  upon  it  but 
discovered  in  it,  as  Michael  Angelo  discovered  the  statue 
in  the  block  of  marble. 

“  If  Cezanne,  Gauguin,  and  VanGogh  were  charlatans,  they 
were  like  no  other  charlatans  that  ever  lived.  If  their  aim 
was  notoriety,  it  is  strange  that  they  should  have  spent  soli¬ 
tary  lives  of  penury  and  toil.  If  they  were  incompetents, 
they  were  curiously  intent  upon  the  most  difficult  problems 
of  their  art.  The  kind  of  simplification  which  they  attempted 


40  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


is  not  easy,  nor,  if  accomplished,  does  it  make  a  picture  look 
better  than  it  is.  The  better  their  pictures  are,  the  more 
they  look  as  if  any  one  could  have  painted  them ;  in  fact,  they 
look  just  as  easy  as  the  lyrical  poems  of  Wordsworth  or 
Blake.”  * 

For  a  glimpse  of  Van  Gogh’s  life  and  aspirations,  see  his 
letters  published  in  English  under  the  title,  “  Letters  of  a 
Post-Impressionist,”  written  mostly  to  his  brother  —  simple, 
pathetic  documents,  showing  the  eager,  earnest  striving  of  a 
man  who  finally  went  insane  and  shot  himself.  Critics  and 
opponents  of  his  work  have  seized  upon  his  madness  as  proof 
of  lack  of  sanity  in  what  he  painted  —  perhaps,  but  then  is 
dullness  the  only  proof  positive  of  sanity? 

<S>  <S>  <S> 

Gauguin,  half  Breton,  half  Peruvian  Creole,  was  a  rest¬ 
less  spirit. 

“  More  than  once  he  circumnavigated  the  globe,  and  all  his 
life  he  was  at  recurring  intervals  a  victim  to  wander- thirst. 
In  early  manhood  he  returned  to  Paris  and  made  an  heroic 
attempt  to  settle  down.  He  entered  a  bank,  and  got  on  there 
very  well. 

“  One  day  he  saw  in  a  dealer’s  shop  some  paintings  which 
brought  back  memories  of  the  light  and  color  he  had  seen 
in  the  tropics.  He  sought  out  the  painters  Pissarro  and  Guil- 
laumin,  and  began  painting  at  the  age  of  thirty.  Two  years 
later,  in  1880,  he  exhibited  two  landscapes  in  the  manner  of 
Pissarro. 

“  Degas  made  the  decisive  impression  on  him,  by  his 
systematic  division  of  large  planes  of  color,  and  above  all,  by 
his  strong  drawing.”  f 

*  “  The  Post-Impressionists,”  by  A.  Chilton-Brock,  “  Burlington 
Magazine,”  January,  1911. 

f  “  Revolution  in  Art,”  by  Frank  Rutter,  p.  27. 


VAN  GOGH 
Portrait  of  Self 


LES  FAUVES 


41 


“  Gauguin  was  as  singular  in  his  way  as  VanGogh  in  his. 
He  did  not  “  go  mad,”  but  he  withdrew  from  civilized  society, 
buried  himself  in  Tahiti  and  painted  the  natives,  firmly  con¬ 
vinced  that  only  amidst  primitive  conditions  could  be  found 
the  inspiration  of  pure  art. 

“  His  combative  disposition  impelled  him  to  fight  against 
painters,  critics,  dealers,  buyers,  and  against  established  insti¬ 
tutions  and  conventions.  One  would  say  fate  pursued  him. 
In  1894  at  Concarneau  in  a  quarrel  with  some  boatmen  who 
had  insulted  him,  his  ankle  was  broken  by  a  sabot  kick, 
leaving  a  painful  injury  from  which  he  suffered  until  his 
death  (in  1903).”* 

Of  his  aims  he  said  in  a  letter  to  a  friend: 

Physics,  chemistry,  and,  above  all,  the  study  of  nature,  have  pro¬ 
duced  an  epoch  of  confusion  in  art,  and  it  may  be  truly  said  that 
artists,  robbed  of  all  their  savagery,  have  wandered  into  all  kinds 
of  paths  in  search  of  the  productive  element  which  they  no  longer 
possess.  They  now  act  only  in  disorderly  groups,  and  are  terrified 
as  if  lost  when  they  find  themselves  alone.  Solitude  is  not  to  be 
recommended  to  any  one,  for  a  man  must  have  strength  to  bear  it 
alone.  All  I  have  learnt  from  others  has  been  an  impediment  to  me. 
It  is  true  that  I  know  little,  but  what  I  do  know  is  my  own. 

Every  human  work  is  a  revelation  of  the  individual.  Hence,  there 
are  two  kinds  of  beauty;  one  comes  from  instinct,  the  other  from 
labor.  The  union  of  the  two  —  with  the  modification  resulting  there¬ 
from —  produces  great  and  very  complicated  richness.  .  .  .  Raphael’s 
great  science  does  not  for  a  moment  prevent  me  from  discovering  the 
instinct  of  the  beautiful  in  him  as  the  essential  quality. 

<$><$>$> 

In  1895  there  was  a  sale  of  Gauguin’s  works  at  the  Hotel 
Drouot.  Strindberg  was  asked  to  write  a  preface  to  the 
catalogue.  In  declining,  he  admitted  his  own  “immense 
yearning  to  become  a  savage  and  create  a  new  world,”  but 
said  of  Gauguin’s  world,  “  it  is  too  sunny  for  me,  the  lover  of 

*  “  Paul  Gauguin,”  by  Michael  Puy,  “  L’Art  Decoratif,”  April,  1911. 


42  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


chiaroscuro.  And  in  your  Eden  dwells  an  Eve,  who  is  not 
my  ideal  —  for  indeed,  I  too,  have  a  feminine  ideal,  or  two.” 

Gauguin  answered, 

Your  civilization  is  your  disease,  my  barbarism  is  my  restoration 
to  health.  The  Eve  of  your  civilized  conception  makes  us  nearly  all 
misogynists.  The  old  Eve,  who  shocked  you  in  my  studio,  will  per¬ 
haps  seem  less  odious  to  you  some  day.  I  have  perhaps  been  unable 
to  do  more  than  suggest  my  world,  which  seems  unreal  to  you.  It 
is  a  far  cry  from  the  sketch  to  the  realisation  of  the  dream.  But  even 
the  suggestion  of  the  happiness  is  like  a  foretaste  of  Nirvana  —  only 
the  Eve  I  have  painted  can  stand  naked  before  us.  Yours  would 
always  be  shameless  in  the  natural  state,  and,  if  beautiful,  the  source 
of  pain  and  evil.* 

He  had  a  profound  admiration  for  Cezanne,  and  was  often 
charged  with  imitating  him,  and  in  some  of  his  pictures  there 
is  a  certain  resemblance  in  construction,  but  two  painters 
could  scarce  be  less  alike  in  the  handling  of  color.  Gauguin 
handled  color  for  the  pure  joy  of  it.f  Cezanne  used  color  as 
a  mason  uses  bricks. 

Gauguin’s  admiration  for  Cezanne  was  not  reciprocated. 

“  Gauguin  likes  your  work  immensely,  and  imitates  you,” 
a  friend  once  said  to  Cezanne. 

“  Eh !  he  does  not  understand  me,”  was  the  angry  re¬ 
sponse.  “I  never  have  and  never  will  accept  a  lack  of 
modelling  or  graduation;  that  is  nonsense.  Gauguin  is  not  a 
painter;  he  produces  simply  Chinese  figures.” 

<$>❖<$> 

Gauguin  was  a  dreamer;  Cezanne,  in  his  way,  was  quite 
an  exact  thinker,  for  instance,  he  explained  his  ideas  of  form 
and  color  as  follows: 

*“  Revolution  in  Art,”  by  Frank  Rutter,  32-33.  Now  that  the 
great  Swedish  dramatist,  and  pessimist,  is  becoming  known  to  the 
English-speaking  world,  these  words  of  Gauguin’s  are  singularly 
interesting  —  and  just. 

t  See  “  Paul  Gauguin,”  by  Armand  Seguin,  “  L’Occident,”  March, 
April,  and  May,  1903. 


LES  FAUVES 


43 


Everything  in  nature  is  modelled  on  the  lines  of  the  sphere,  the 
cone,  and  the  cylinder,  and  one  must  understand  how  to  paint  these 
simple  figures,  one  can  then  paint  anything.  Design  and  color  are 
not  distinct;  to  precisely  the  extent  that  one  paints,  one  draws;  the 
more  the  color  harmonizes,  the  clearer  and  purer  the  design.  When 
the  color  is  at  its  finest,  the  form  also  attains  its  perfection.  Con¬ 
trasts  and  harmonies  of  tones  —  that  is  the  secret  of  drawing  and 
modelling.* 

In  the  suggestion  of  the  lines  of  the  sphere,  the  cone,  and 
the  cylinder,  as  the  elements  of  all  art,  one  recognizes  the 
alphabet  of  cubism.  But  in  reducing  drawing  to  these  ele¬ 
ments  Cezanne,  without  knowing  it,  simply  repeated  what 
Albert  Durer  printed  in  book  form  nearly  four  hundred  years 
ago,  and  what  the  Chinese  and  Japanese  had  discovered  cen¬ 
turies  earlier.f 

The  fact  that  the  work  of  four  men  so  different,  Cezanne, 
Henri  Rousseau,  VanGogh,  Gauguin,  began  to  be  appreci¬ 
ated  about  the  same  time,  shows  how  ripe  the  Paris  art 
world  was  for  the  reaction  from  Impressionism  —  for  a  great 
movement  in  creative  and  decorative  art. 

<$><$><$> 

Matisse  taught  drawing  and  for  a  time  —  from  1895  to 
1899  —  painted  along  conventional  lines.  Influenced  by 
Cezanne  he  then  broke  with  the  academic  and  sought  new 
light  effects,  effects  quite  different  from  those  of  the  Impres¬ 
sionists. 

He  sought  to  break  with  all  ancient  laws,  and  his  use  of 
color  became  and  still  is  largely  his  own.f 

While  his  coloring  is  always  interesting  and  his  drawing 
facile,  there  is  at  times  something  about  his  work  that  is  not 
satisfying,  an  atmosphere  of  superficiality.  He  is  described, 

*  “  Souvenirs  of  Paul  Cezanne,”  by  Emile  Bernard,  p.  36. 

t  See  “  Laws  of  Japanese  Painting,”  Henry  P.  Bowie,  by  long 
odds  the  best  book  in  English  on  the  subject. 

t  See  “  La  Jeune  Peinture  Francaise,”  pas.  Andre  Salmon,  pp. 
18,  19. 


44  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


however,  by  those  who  know  him  as  a  painter  of  almost 
bourgeois  earnestness  and  sincerity,  taking  himself  and  his 
work  most  seriously. 

At  the  same  time  many  of  his  canvasses  give  the  impres¬ 
sion  of  having  been  executed  in  a  spirit  of  sheer  audacity. 

<$><$><$> 

To  be  sure,  there  is  a  rhythm  and  swing  to  some  of  his 
moving  figures  that  is  delightful,  delightful  in  the  elemental 
simplicity  of  the  drawing  and  the  seemingly  —  but  only 
seemingly — naive  coloring. 

Yet  even  with  these  canvases  there  is  often  the  feeling, 
“With  so  much  skill,  why  did  he  not  do  better?”  —  a  feeling 
of  disappointment,  of  dissatisfaction. 

One  is  disposed  to  agree  with  the  opinion  that  Matisse’s 
“true  gifts  are  those  of  address,  of  souplesse,  of  quick  assimi¬ 
lation,  of  limited  but  easily  acquired  knowledge  —  essentially 
feminine  gifts.”  * 

“On  a  beaucoup  vante  le  gout  d’Henri  Matisse.  II  n’est  pas  neable, 
mats  d’une  qualite  secondaire.  C’est  le  gout  d’une  modiste;  son  amour 
de  la  conteur  vaut  un  amour  du  chiffon.” 

He  lives  in  a  simple  country  house  in  a  suburb  out  of 
Paris.  His  studio  is  painted  white,  within  and  without,  with 
immense  windows.* 

I  found  not  a  long-haired,  slovenly-dressed,  eccentric  man,  as  I 
had  imagined,  but  a  fresh,  healthy,  robust,  blonde  gentleman,  who 
looked  even  more  German  than  French,  and  whose  simple  and  unaf¬ 
fected  cordiality  put  me  directly  at  my  ease. 

Concerning  his  early  experiences,  Matisse  said:  “I  began  at  the 
Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts.  When  I  opened  my  studio,  years  after,  for 
some  time  I  painted  just  like  any  one  else.  But  things  didn’t  go  at 
all,  and  I  was  very  unhappy.  Then,  little  by  little,  I  began  to  paint 
as  I  felt.  One  cannot  do  successful  work  which  has  much  feeling 
unless  one  sees  the  subject  very  simply,  and  one  must  do  this  in  order 
to  express  one’s  self  as  clearly  as  possible. 

*  “  La  Jeune  Peinture  Francaise,”  Andre  Salmon,  p.  19. 


MATISSE 
The  Dance 


LES  FAUVES 


45 


“I  studied  in  the  schools  mornings,  and  I  copied  at  the  Louvre 
in  the  afternoons  for  ten  years.  I  made  copies  for  the  Government, 
but  when  I  introduced  some  of  my  own  emotional  impressions,  or 
personal  translations  of  the  pictures,  the  Government  did  not  care 
to  buy;  it  only  wanted  a  photographic  copy.” 

Of  his  present  methods  he  said:  “I  certainly  do  think  of  har¬ 
mony  and  color,  and  of  composition,  too.  Drawing  is  for  me  the 
art  of  being  able  to  express  myself  with  line.  When  an  artist  or 
student  draws  a  nude  figure  with  painstaking  care,  the  result  is  draw¬ 
ing,  and  not  emotion.  A  true  artist  cannot  see  color  which  is  not 
harmonious.  Otherwise  it  is  a  moyen,  or  recipe.  An  artist  should 
express  his  feeling  with  the  harmony  or  idea  of  color  which  he  pos¬ 
sesses  naturally.  He  should  not  copy  the  walls,  or  objects  on  a 
table,  but  he  should,  above  all,  express  a  vision  of  color,  the  harmony 
of  which  corresponds  to  his  feeling.  And,  above  all,  one  must  be 
honest  with  one’s  self. 

“  If  one  feels  no  emotion,  one  should  not  paint.  When  I  came 
in  here  to  work  this  morning  I  had  no  emotion,  so  I  took  a  horse¬ 
back  ride.  When  I  returned  I  felt  like  painting,  and  had  all  the 
emotion  I  wanted. 

“I  never  use  pastels  or  water  colors,  and  I  only  make  studies 
from  models,  not  to  use  in  a  picture  —  mats  pour  me  nourrir  —  to 
strengthen  my  knowledge;  and  I  never  work  from  a  previous  sketch 
or  study,  but  from  memory.  I  now  draw  with  feeling,  and  not  ana¬ 
tomically.  I  know  how  to  draw  correctly,  having  studied  form 
so  long. 

“  I  always  use  a  preliminary  canvas  the  same  size  for  a  sketch 
as  for  a  finished  picture,  and  I  always  begin  with  color.  With  large 
canvases  this  is  more  fatiguing,  but  more  logical.  I  may  have  the 
same  sentiment  I  obtained  in  the  first,  but  this  lacks  solidity,  and  a 
decorative  sense.  I  never  retouch  a  sketch;  I  take  a  new  canvas 
the  same  size,  as  I  may  change  the  composition  somewhat.  But  I 
always  strive  to  give  the  same  feeling,  while  carrying  it  on  further. 
A  picture  should,  for  me,  always  be  decorative.  While  working 
I  never  try  to  think,  only  to  feel. 

“  I  have  a  class  of  sixty  pupils  and  make  them  draw  accurately, 
as  a  student  always  should  do  at  the  beginning.  I  do  not  encourage 
them  to  work  as  I  do  now.” 

When  asked  about  a  clay  model  of  a  nude  woman  with  abnormal 
legs,  he  picked  up  a  small  Javanese  statue  with  a  head  all  out  of  pro¬ 
portion  to  the  body  and  asked: 

“  Is  not  that  beautiful?  ” 

His  interviewer  answered,  “I  see  no  beauty  where  there  is  lack 


46  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


of  proportion.  To  my  mind  no  sculpture  has  ever  equaled  that  of  the 
Greeks,  unless  it  be  Michael  Angelo’s.” 

He  replied:  “But  there  you  are,  back  to  the  classic,  the  formal. 
We  of  today  are  trying  to  express  ourselves  today  —  now — the 
twentieth  century  —  and  not  to  copy  what  the  Greeks  saw  and  felt 
in  art  over  two  thousand  years  ago.  The  Greek  sculptors  always 
followed  a  set,  fixed  form,  and  never  showed  any  sentiment.  The 
very  early  Greeks  and  the  Primitives  only  worked  from  the  basis  of 
emotion,  but  this  grew  cold,  and  disappeared  in  the  following  cen¬ 
turies.  It  makes  no  difference  what  are  the  proportions,  if  there  is 
feeling.  And  if  the  sculptor  who  modeled  this  makes  me  think  only 
of  a  dwarf,  then  he  has  failed  to  express  the  beauty  which  should 
overpower  all  lack  of  proportion,  and  this  is  only  done  through  or 
by  means  of  his  emotions. 

“  My  favorite  masters  are  Goya,  Durer,  Rembrandt,  Corot,  and 
Manet.  I  often  go  to  the  Louvre,  and  there  I  study  Chardin’s  work 
more  than  any  other;  I  go  there  to  study  his  technic.” 

His  palette  was  a  large  one,  and  so  chaotic  and  disorderly  were 
the  vivid  colors  on  it  that  a  close  resemblance  could  be  traced  to  some 
of  his  pictures. 

“I  never  mix  much;  I  use  small  brushes  and  never  more  than 
twelve  colors.  I  use  black  to  cool  the  blue. 

“I  seldom  paint  portraits;  and,  if  I  do,  only  in  a  decorative 
manner.  I  can  see  them  in  no  other  way.” 

One’s  ideas  of  the  man  and  of  his  work  are  entirely  opposed  to 
each  other:  The  latter  abnormal  to  the  last  degree,  and  the  man  an 
ordinary,  healthy  individual,  such  as  one  meets  by  the  dozen  every 
day.  On  this  point  Matisse  showed  some  emotion. 

“  Oh,  do  tell  the  American  people  that  I  am  a  normal  man;  that 
I  am  a  devoted  husband  and  father;  that  I  have  three  fine  children; 
that  I  go  to  the  theater,  ride  horseback,  have  a  comfortable  home, 
a  fine  garden  that  I  love,  flowers,  etc.,  just  like  any  man.” 

As  if  to  bear  out  this  description  of  himself,  he  took  me  to  the 
salon  in  his  perfectly  normal  house,  to  see  a  normal  copy  which  he 
had  made  at  the  Louvre,  and  he  bade  me  good-by  and  invited  me  to 
call  again  like  a  perfectly  normal  gentleman.* 

Matisse  differs  from  Cezanne,  VanGogh,  Gauguin,  in  the 
accentuation  of  feeling  as  distinguished  from  observation. 
While  the  three  last  named  sought  fresh  inspiration  from 

*  From  an  article  and  interview  by  C.  T.  MacChesney,  printed  in 
the  “New  York  Times,”  March  9,  1913. 


LES  FAUVES  47 

close  and  ever  closer  contact  with  nature,  he  seeks  his  in¬ 
spiration  in  his  own  emotions. 

It  is  this  trait  that  makes  him  one  of  the  leaders  of  Post- 
Impressionism,  as  well  as  a  Fauve. 

<$>❖<$> 

From  the  foregoing  it  is  clear  that  Fauvism  does  not  mean 
a  particular  mode  or  technic,  like  Classicism,  Romanticism, 
Realism,  Impressionism,  etc.,  etc.  It  means  a  mood  rather 
than  a  mode.  Every  painter  in  revolt  against  prevailing  taste 
and  standards  was  and  is  a  Fauve. 

Not  all  Post-Impressionists  are  Fauves,  but  many  are  so 
called,  for  instance,  the  following:* 

Odillon  Redon,  Othon  Friez,  Picasso  (the  founder  of 
Cubism),  Van  Dongen,  Andre  Derain,  Vlaminck,  Marquet, 
George  Braque,  Raoul  Dufy,  Robert  Delauney,  M’lle  Lau¬ 
rencin,  Jean  Metzinger,  Pierre  Girieud,  Verhoeven. 

Of  the  above  four  are  well  known  Cubists;  Redon  is  a 
poetic  personality  quite  apart ;  while  the  others  exhibit 
marked  individualities  in  their  work. 

Les  Fauves  in  Germany  are  “  Die  Wilden,”  embracing  the 
“Brucke”  of  Dresden,  the  “Neue  Sezession”  of  Berlin,  the 
“  Neue  Vereinigung  ”  of  Munich.f 

Those  of  Russia  are  Larionoff,  P.  Kuznezoff,  Sarjan, 
Denissow,  Kantsch,  Schalowsky,  Maschkoff,  Frau  Gont- 
scharof,  von  Wisen,  W.  and  D.  Burljuk,  Kanabe,  Jakulof;  and 
others  who  live  in  foreign  countries,  such  as  Schereczowa, 
Paris;  Kandinsky  Werefkina,  Jawlensky,  Bechteyeff,  Genin 
in  Munich.^ 

Among  the  best  known  English  artists  who  might  fairly 
be  classed  as  “Fauves”  are  Ferguson,  Peploe,  Lewis,  Wynd- 

*  See  “  Le  Jeune  Peinture  Francaise,”  Andre  Salmon,  1912. 

t  “  Der  Blaue  Reiter,”  p.  5. 

$  See  “  Der  Blaue  Reiter,”  pp.  17,  18. 


48  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


hover  Lewis,  Duncan  Grant,  Mrs.  Bell,  Frederic  Etchells, 
Miss  Etchells,  Eric  Gill,  Spencer  F.  Gore,  and  a  man  who  has 
done  heroic  service  for  the  new  movement,  Roger  Fry. 

There  are,  however,  comparatively  speaking,  so  few 
“Fauves”  in  England  that  the  guns  of  the  critics  rust  on  the 
racks;  while  in  America  they  are  so  scattered  they  have  as 
3'et  attracted  no  attention  by  concerted  action. 

Almost  the  only  man  in  this  country  who  has  persistently 
painted  in  Cubist  fashion  for  any  length  of  time  is  Arthur 
Dove,  one  of  whose  pictures  is  reproduced. 

When  asked  how  he  came  to  paint  as  he  does  Dove  said: 

After  having  come  to  the  conclusion  that  there  were  a  few  prin¬ 
ciples  existent  in  all  good  art  from  the  earliest  examples  we  have, 
through  the  Masters  to  the  present,  I  set  about  it  to  analyze  these 
principles  as  they  are  found  in  works  of  art  and  in  nature. 

One  of  these  principles  which  seemed  most  evident  was  the 
choice  of  the  simple  motif.  This  same  law  held  in  nature,  a  few 
forms  and  a  few  colors  sufficed  for  the  creation  of  an  object. 

Consequently  I  gave  up  my  more  disorderly  methods  (impres¬ 
sionism);  in  other  words,  I  gave  up  trying  to  express  an  idea  by 
stating  innumerable  little  facts,  the  statement  of  facts  having  no 
more  to  do  with  the  art  of  painting  than  statistics  with  literature. 

He  then  refers  to  “that  perfect  sense  of  order  which 
exists  in  the  early  Chinese  painting,”  and  goes  on: 

The  first  step  was  to  choose  from  nature  a  motif  in  color,  and 
with  that  motif  to  paint  from  nature,  the  form  still  being  objective. 

The  second  step  was  to  apply  this  same  principle  to  form,  the 
actual  dependence  upon  the  object  (literal  to  representation)  disap¬ 
pearing,  and  the  means  of  expression  becoming  purely  subjective. 

After  working  for  sometime  in  this  way,  I  no  longer  observed 
in  the  old  way,  and  not  only  began  to  think  subjectively,  but  also  to 
remember  certain  sensations  purely  through  their  form  and  color,  that 
is  by  certain  shapes,  planes,  light,  or  character  lines  determined  by 
the  meeting  of  such  planes. 

With  the  introduction  of  the  line  motif  the  expression  grew 
more  plastic,  and  the  struggle  with  the  means  became  less  evident. 


LES  FAUVES 


49 


Referring  to  the  painting  reproduced  he  said: 

It  is  a  choice  of  three  colors,  red,  yellow,  and  green,  and  three 
forms  selected  from  trees  and  the  spaces  between  them  that  to  me 
were  expressive  of  the  movement  of  the  thing  which  I  felt. 

As  to  going  further  and  explaining  what  I  felt,  that  would  be 
quite  as  stupid  as  to  play  on  an  instrument  before  deaf  persons.  The 
deaf  person  is  simply  not  sensitive  to  sound  and  cannot  appreciate; 
and  a  person  who  is  not  sensitive  to  form  and  color  as  such  would 
be  quite  as  helpless. 

The  majority  of  people  seem  to  be  in  the  position  of  deaf  per¬ 
sons.  They  see  others  listening  intently,  and  apparently  enjoying 
something,  and  because  they  fail  to  hear,  they  at  once  draw  the  false 
conclusion  that  the  trouble  is  with  the  instrument  or  the  performers. 

In  November  last  a  group  of  young  Americans  held  an 
exhibition  of  very  modern  work  in  The  MacDowell  Club  in 
New  York.  The  exhibitors  were  Oliver  Chaffee,  Konrad 
Cramer,  Andrew  Dasburg,  Grace  Johnson,  Arthur  Lee,  Henry 
L.  McFee,  Paul  Rohland,  William  Zorach. 


IV 


A  FUTILE  PROTEST 

THE  Cubist  pictures  in  the  Salon  d’Automne,  1912,  was 
the  occasion  of  the  following  letter  from  M.  Lempue, 
painter  and  doyen  du  Conseil  municipal  de  la  Ville  de  Paris, 
addressed  M.  Berard,  Sous-Secretaire  d’Etat  des  Beaux-Arts.* 

If  the  voice  of  a  municipal  counsellor  could  reach  you,  I  would 
beg  you,  would  pray  you  to  go  and  take  a  turn  around  the  Autumn 
Salon. 

Go  there,  sir,  and  although  you  are  a  minister,  I  trust  that  you 
will  come  away  as  much  disgusted  as  are  many  people  whom  I  know, 
and  I  hope,  also,  that  you  will  say  to  yourself  in  an  undertone:  “  Have 
I  indeed  the  right  to  loan  a  public  building  to  a  lot  of  malefactors 
who  conduct  themselves  in  the  world  of  art  as  do  the  apaches  in 
ordinary  life?  ” 

You  will  ask  yourself,  Mr.  Minister,  in  leaving  the  place,  if  nature 
and  the  human  form  have  ever  before  suffered  such  outrages;  you 
will  admit  with  regret  that  in  this  Salon  the  most  trivial  uglinesses 
and  vulgarities  that  can  be  imagined  are  there  displayed  and  accu¬ 
mulated;  and  you  will  again  ask  yourself,  Mr.  Minister,  if  the  dig¬ 
nity  of  the  Government  of  which  you  form  part  is  not  injured, 
inasmuch  as  it  appears  to  take  under  its  protection  such  a  scandal 
by  sheltering  horrors  like  these  in  a  national  building. 

The  Government  of  the  Republic,  as  it  seems  to  me,  ought  to  be 
more  careful  and  more  respectful  of  the  artistic  dignity  of  France. 

A  year  ago,  and  for  another  reason,  I  wrote  to  your  predecessor, 
who,  by  the  way,  took  no  notice  of  my  letter;  but  what  is  astonishing 
—  does  he  not  let  everybody  think  that  he  is  a  meridional,  whereas 
he  was  born  nowhere  else  than  at  Montmartre? 

A  friend  whispers  to  me  that  you  are  from  Orthez;  we  are,  there¬ 
fore,  fellow-townsmen,  for  that  is  almost  as  if  you  came  from  Montre- 
jeau;  so  then,  “  Dious  bibant!”  (Dieu  vivant!)  it  will  not  be  long 
before  you  will  make  known  to  the  Belgian,  Frantz  Jourdain,  who 
has  very  modestly  set  for  himself  the  mission  of  reforming  French 
art,  and  who,  in  order  to  thoroughly  demonstrate  his  ability  to  do 

*  “  L’Art  Decoratif,”  Nov.  1912. 

50 


A  FUTILE  PROTEST 


51 


so,  has  deposited  —  I  will  not  say  offal  —  but  the  store  of  “  La 
Samaritaine  ”  almost  opposite  the  Louvre,  which  fact  is  a  sure  proof 
of  the  superiority  of  his  monstrosity  of  a  structure  over  the  beautiful 
architecture  of  the  Renaissance.  Please,  therefore,  make  known  to 
this  architect  that  in  the  future  he  may  locate  his  reforms  and  his 
reformers  where  he  pleases,  but  not  again  in  a  public  building,  and 
for  so  doing,  all  those  who  have  taste  and  love  for  beautiful  things 
will  applaud  you. 

Please  accept,  Mr.  Minister,  the  assurance  of  my  highest  regards. 

Lempue. 


<$>  <S>  <$> 


The  Committee  of  the  Autumn  Salon,  in  reply,  made  the 
following  statement: 

The  committee  of  the  Autumn  Salon  considers  that  the  only  reply 
which  it  can  make  to  the  especially  severe  attacks  that  have  been 
made  on  it  this  year  is  to  make  announcement  of  the  principle  that 
directs  it: 

“  To  admit  all  efforts  of  conscientious  art,  whatever  they  may  be, 
however  personal,  and  however  strange  they  may  seem  to  the  ancient 
formulae.” 

The  Autumn  Salon  is  not  and  does  not  wish  to  be  the  con¬ 
servator  of  a  school  with  a  fixed  formula;  it  wishes,  rather,  to  remain 
the  ground  of  generous  combat  and  of  the  emulation  necessary  in 
a  country  like  ours,  in  order  to  bring  out  and  fructify  both  artists 
and  works  of  art. 

The  Government,  whose  role  is  not  to  direct,  but  to  encourage 
the  artistic  effort  of  the  nation,  can  consider  only  in  the  most  kindly 
way  a  Salon  which  has  been  the  first  to  give  reception  to  many  artists 
now  celebrated,  which  has  given  a  place  hitherto  unknown  to  deco¬ 
rative  art,  and  which,  before  all  other  expositions,  has  placed  music 
and  literature  on  a  par  with  painting  and  sculpture. 

<$><$><$> 

Then  the  newspapers  published  the  following  item  of 
news: 

M.  J.  L.  Breton,  deputy  from  Cherbourg,  proposes  to  put  to  the 
Assistant-Secretary  of  State  for  the  Beaux  Arts,  in  the  course  of 
the  next  discussion  of  his  budget,  a  question  regarding  the  “  scandal  ” 
of  the  Autumn  Salon,  and  to  ask  him  not  to  allow  the  use  of  the 


52  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


Grand  Palais  for  such  manifestations,  which  discredit  French  art  in 
our  national  palaces. 

This  is  the  question  which  was  put  to  the  consulting  commission 
charged  with  giving  its  advice  regarding  the  multiple  concessions  for 
the  Grand  Palais  in  1913. 

M.  Pascal,  of  the  Institute,  who  presented  the  question,  concluded 
unfavorably.  After  a  long  and  lively  discussion,  the  commission 
ranged  itself  by  a  large  majority  on  the  side  of  the  proponent. 

Let  us  recall  the  protests  that  have  been  addressed  to  the  Autumn 
Salon.  They  were  the  subject,  a  few  weeks  ago,  of  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Lampue,  dean  of  the  municipal  council,  who  protested  against 
the  invasion  of  cubism  into  the  galleries  of  the  palace  of  expositions. 

It  is  now  up  to  M.  Leon  Berard,  Assistant- Secretary  of  State 
for  the  Beaux  Arts,  to  take  final  action. 

❖  <$><$> 

On  varnishing  day,  Mr.  Gabriel  Mourey  wrote  in  the 
Journal: 

“  What  a  pity  it  is  that  there  is  no  law  permitting  the  taking  of 
legal  action  against  painters  who  cultivate  hatred  of  beauty  in  the  pub¬ 
lic  mind.  These  painters  are  the  advance-guard  artists  and  the 
Cubists.”  M.  Mourey  neglected  to  tell  us  if  the  legal  action  which 
he  proposes  to  us  would  be  civil  or  penal.  In  our  opinion,  it  would 
be  necessary  to  make  a  distinction:  The  rich  painters  might  be  con¬ 
demned  to  pay  a  penalty,  and,  so  that  the  Government  might  not 
be  liable  to  lose  its  rights  where  there  is  nothing,  the  poor  painters 
might  be  hung  up  high  and  short. 

Oh,  tolerance!  oh,  progress!  oh,  the  twentieth  century! 

In  connection  with  the  controversy  “  L’Art  Decoratif  ” 
quoted  the  following  letter  from  Boucher  to  his  pupil 
Fragonard:  “My  dear  Fragonard:  You  are  going  to  see  in 
Italy  the  works  of  Raphael,  Michael  Angelo,  and  their  imita¬ 
tors;  I  say  to  you  in  confidence  and  as  a  friend,  if  you  take 
these  people  seriously  you  are  lost.” 

<S>  <$>  <$> 

Not  the  least  interesting  and  amusing  feature  of  the 
lively  article  from  which  the  above  extracts  are  taken  is  its 
own  denunciation  of  the  cubists  en  bloc. 


The  Country  Road 


BECHTEJEFF 
Fight  of  the  Amazons 


A  FUTILE  PROTEST 


53 


It  resolutely  assails  the  more  orthodox  critics  for  what 
they  say  about  all  the  moderns  it  likes  and  then  it  echoes  their 
language  in  its  own  condemnation  of  a  body  of  men  who  are 
striving  earnestly  in  their  way  to  do  things. 

<$><$>$> 

“Oh!  tolerance ,  oh!  progress! 

Oh!  twentieth  century !” 

<§>  <$>  <$> 

One  has  only  to  group  the  conflicting  opinions  of  great 
painters  and  critics  to  see  how  much  depends  upon  the  point 
of  view  and  the  personal  equation. 

To  say  certain  pictures  are  worthless  is  a  matter  of  indi¬ 
vidual  taste  and  judgment ;  they  may  be  worthless  to  me  and 
not  to  you,  just  as  clothes  one  man  likes  another  would 
refuse  to  wear. 

But  to  say  a  school  or  a  movement,  irrespective  of  par¬ 
ticular  works,  is  a  worthless  movement  involves  not  one’s 
taste  but  one’s  philosophy  of  life;  it  involves  the  proposition 
that  a  movement  in  art  that  challenges  the  attention  of  the 
art- world  is  so  devoid  of  force  of  any  kind  that  it  is  unworthy 
attention  —  an  obvious  contradiction. 

Cubism  has  produced  a  lot  of  inane,  uninteresting,  and 
ugly  pictures,  pictures  hopelessly  bad  in  both  line  and  color, 
but  it  has  also  produced  pictures  that  are  fine  in  line  and 
color;  but  whether  a  particular  picture  is  good  or  bad  is  of 
no  importance  whatsoever  in  comparison  with  the  larger  and 
more  vital  question: 

What  is  the  relation  of  Cubism  to  the  art  of  today  and 
tomorrow t 

<8>  <$> 

When  the  Societe  Nationale  des  Beaux-Arts  was  founded 
in  1890  in  a  spirit  of  revolt  against  the  old  Salon  Societe  des 


54  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


Artistes  Frangais  —  which  dates  its  expositions  from  1673  — 
the  schism  was  complete  and  the  movement  was  denounced 
as  revolutionary.  The  art  world  was  divided  into  two  bit¬ 
terly  hostile  camps.  The  two  Salons  seemed  absolutely 
irreconcilable. 

Now  they  exhibit  side  by  side  in  practically  the  same 
building.  The  visitor  can  stand  in  the  main  gallery  of  the 
one  and  gaze  into  the  galleries  of  the  other.  The  only  dis¬ 
tinctions  are  separate  catalogues  and  an  extra  charge  of  a 
franc  or  two  if  you  wish  to  pass  from  the  one  to  the  other. 

<$><$><$> 

Passing  from  the  old  Salon  to  the  newer,  one  still  has  —  to 
a  slight  degree  —  the  feeling  of  passing  from  older  and  more 
conservative  pictures  to  a  newer,  lighter,  and  somewhat  more 
modern  collection.  And  there  is  a  difference  but  it  is  so  slight 
that  casual  visitors  do  not  notice  it.  In  fact  nine  out  of  ten 
who  visit  the  two  Salons  would  think  they  were  in  but  one 
exhibition,  selected  and  arranged  by  the  same  committee, 
were  it  not  for  the  additional  fee  and  the  two  catalogues. 

There  is  no  reason  today  why  the  two  Salons  should  not 
coalesce  and  make  one  exhibition. 

In  less  than  twenty-five  years  the  older  has  absorbed  much 
of  what  was  good  in  the  revolutionary  force  of  the  younger, 
and  so  much  of  the  revolutionary  enthusiasm  of  the  younger 
has  subsided  that  the  members  of  the  new  Societe  fight  side 
by  side  with  the  members  of  the  old  against  the  two  more 
radical  exhibitions,  the  Salon  d’Automne,  organized  in  1903, 
and  the  Societe  des  Artistes  Independents,  organized  in  1884. 

<$>  <$>  <$> 

In  time  the  Salon  d’Automne  will  become  quite  as  con¬ 
servative  as  the  two  older  Salons  and  there  will  be  no  reason 
why  it  should  not  exhibit  and  coalesce  with  the  older. 


A  FUTILE  PROTEST 


55 


What  is  happening  in  Paris  has  happened  in  Munich. 
The  Munich  Secessionists,  once  denounced  as  aesthetic  an¬ 
archists,  have  so  far  subsided  that  they  exhibit  with  the  aca¬ 
demic  painters,  retaining  a  faint  show  of  identity  by  having 
the  word  “Secessionist”  over  the  doors  of  the  few  rooms 
they  fill. 

The  old  Secession  having  subsided,  the  “Neue  Sezession” 
has  been  organized  by  “  Die  Wilden  ”  of  Munich  and  that  is 
now  rampant;  in  ten  or  twenty  years  it  will  be  absorbed  in 
the  main  stream  and  a  still  nezver  secession  challenge  atten¬ 
tion —  and  so  on  to  the  end  of  progress,  for  progress  depends 
upon  new  and  newer  and  ever  newer  departures.  Already 
there  is  a  division  in  the  New  Secession;  the  “Blue  Riders” 
have  withdrawn. 

<$><$><$> 

Months  after  the  above  was  written  the  London  cor¬ 
respondent  of  the  “Chicago  Tribune”  —  Nov.  2,  1913  —  wrote 
as  follows  about  the  post-impressionist  exhibition  in  the 
Grafton  Galleries: 

Many  of  the  pictures  which  would  have  provoked  happy  laughter 
three  years  ago  now  look  quite  ordinary.  The  public  is  inured  to 
them  as  much  as  it  is  inured  to  Whistler  or  Degas,  and  in  a  little 
time  some  of  them  will  be  dealers’  pictures,  just  like  the  works  of 
the  Barbizon  school. 

There  is,  for  instance,  nothing  extraordinary  about  the  “Interior 
of  a  Cafe,”  by  VanGogh,  except  its  quiet  excellence.  It  is  all  seen 
as  justly  and  yea  as  newly  as  a  character  in  one  of  Tolstoi’s  novels. 
One  feels  that  any  one  could  have  painted  it  who  had  had  the  luck  to 
see  it  so. 

The  “  Boats  at  Anchor,”  also  by  VanGogh,  is  merely  a  sound 
but  not  very  interesting  impressionist  picture,  and  his  flower  piece  is 
even  academic  in  a  delightful  way.  Cezanne’s  “  Boys  Bathing  ”  is  one 
of  those  works  on  which  the  art  of  modern  painters  like  M.  Friesz 
is  based. 

It  looks  like  a  representation  of  something  seen  instantaneously, 
and  yet  at  the  same  time  it  is  all  designed  like  a  work  of  Nicholas 
Poussin’s. 


56  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


M.  Matisse’s  “Joaquina”  is  timidly  skied,  but  it  is  not  in  the 
least  infuriating,  like  his  famous  gentleman  in  pajamas.  Indeed,  his 
method  here  justifies  itself  at  first  sight,  for  by  no  other  means,  one 
feels,  could  he  have  expressed  the  vitality  of  his  sitter  so  simply 
and  intensely. 

M.  Friesz’s  “  Garden  at  Coimbra  ”  is  one  of  the  pictures  that 
would  have  astonished  us  all  three  or  four  years  ago,  but  which  now 
looks  only  pleasant  and  simple.  So  are  the  works  of  M.  Marquet  and 
M.  Doucet,  and  even  M.  Herbin  no  longer  seems  a  bad  joker.  The 
“  Polka  ”  and  “  Waltz  ”  of  Mr.  Severini,  the  futurist,  are  quite  agree¬ 
able  to  the  eye,  if  it  refuses  to  allow  itself  to  be  puzzled  by  the  mind; 
but,  if  futurist  paintings  can  be  academic,  they  are  a  little  academic, 
or  at  least  systematic.  One  feels  that  any  one  could  be  taught  to 
do  them  pretty  well  in  a  studio. 

Among  the  water  colors  there  are  some  pleasant  works  by  M. 
Doucet  and  some  remarkable  experiments  by  M.  Pechstein.  The 
color  prints  of  M.  Manzana  are  more  Chinese  than  Japanese  in  spirit, 
especially  the  print  of  horses;  and  the  lithographs  of  M.  Matisse  may 
help  some  earnest  beginners  to  see  some  merit  in  his  painting.  At  any 
rate,  any  one  who  looks  at  them  must  see  that  he  can  draw. 

The  exhibition  contains  a  good  deal  of  rubbish,  but  far  less  than 
most  exhibitions  of  what  is  considered  orthodox  art. 

<$><§><§> 

The  Salon  d’Independants  tends  to  remain  radical  not¬ 
withstanding  it  was  founded  so  long  ago  as  1884  because  it 
has  but  one  article  in  its  creed,  “  the  suppression  of  juries  of 
admission  and  permission  to  artists  to  exhibit  freely  their  works 
to  the  judgment  of  the  public 

By  paying  five  dollars  any  artist  —  real  or  supposed  —  is 
entitled  to  so  much  space  and  can  fill  that  space  with  such 
pictures  as  he  pleases,  irrespective  of  their  merit. 

As  a  result,  each  exhibition  contains  original,  revolution¬ 
ary  and  radical  work  mixed  with  an  immense  amount  of 
painting  and  sculpture  that  is  hopelessly  bad  and  some  posi¬ 
tively  objectionable. 

The  continued  vitality  of  the  Independent  Salon  is  due 
to  the  fact  it  has  no  officials  or  committees  to  control  its 
exhibitions  and  check  the  appearance  of  radical  work. 


GOGH 


A  FUTILE  PROTEST 


57 


The  three  other  Salons  grow  conservative  in  the  natural 
ageing  of  their  management;  they  start  with  all  the  enthusi¬ 
asm  of  youth  but  as  both  members  and  officers  get  older 
they  tend  to  monopolize  much  of  the  available  space  for 
themselves  and,  naturally,  they  admit  only  those  newcomers 
whose  work  does  not  detract  or  distract  from  their  own. 
That  is  the  history  of  the  Royal  Academy  in  London,  of  the 
National  Academy  in  New  York,  and  of  every  organization 
the  management  of  which  has  the  right  to  hang  their  own  and 
reject  the  works  of  others. 

3>  <$>  <$> 

In  the  development  of  art  all  these  exhibitions  have  their 
values.  They  are  not  unlike  an  army  in  a  campaign,  with  its 
scouts,  its  skirmishers,  its  advance  guard,  and  its  more  slowly 
moving  main  body  —  in  the  end  it  is  the  main  body  that  does 
the  most  work. 

The  value  of  every  new  movement  lies  in  the  possibility  of 
its  ultimately  contributing  something  to  the  mass,  not  in  the 
possibility  of  its  destroying  what  has  been  done. 

<$>  <$>  ❖ 

One  has  but  to  recall  that  both  Whistler  and  Manet  —  to 
mention  no  others  —  were  obliged  to  exhibit  in  the  Salon  des 
Refuses  of  their  day  to  realize  that  an  independent  salon  has 
its  place  in  the  art  world  quite  as  important  as  an  official; 
in  fact,  wherever  there  is  an  official  exhibition  there  should  be 
an  ww-official,  or  independent,  as  a  natural  complement,  other¬ 
wise  the  opportunity  of  the  public  to  see  for  itself  is  limited 
by  official  discretion. 

<S>  <$>  <S> 

For  instance,  it  is  the  rule  of  the  National  Academy  in 
New  York  that  every  member  and  associate  has  the  right 
to  hang  a  picture  irrespective  of  its  merits.  As  the  space  is 
limited  the  chance  for  new  men  is  small  indeed. 


58  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


Furthermore  it  is  the  older  men  who  pass  upon  the  works 
of  the  newer  and  naturally  they  feel  an  instinctive  aversion 
to  paintings  that  clash  with  or  distract  attention  from  their 
own,  hence  the  more  radical,  the  more  novel,  the  more  inter¬ 
esting  the  picture  the  less  chance  it  has  of  being  accepted. 
This  is  both  a  fault  and  a  virtue  in  the  Academy  —  the  fault 
and  the  virtue  of  extreme  conservatism. 

To  correct  the  fault  other  exhibitions,  held  under  freer 
conditions,  are  absolutely  necessary  not  only  to  the  progress 
of  artists,  young  and  old,  but  to  stimulate  interest  in  the 
public,  to  make  the  public  feel  that  it  is  something  more  than 
a  passive  spectator  with  nothing  to  say,  but  on  the  contrary 
its  sympathetic  cooperation  and  final  verdict  of  approval  are 
desired. 

<$><$><$> 

Nothing  is  more  deadly  to  the  art  of  a  country  than  a 
single  annual  official  exhibition  such,  for  instance,  as  that  of 
the  Royal  Academy  in  London,  or  the  old  Salon  as  it  was 
thirty  years  ago  in  Paris. 

The  interest  of  the  public  is  not  aroused.  The  official 
selection  is  accepted  as  a  matter  of  course.  What  is  in  the 
exhibitions  is  supposed  to  be  good,  what  is  not  accepted  is 
supposed  to  be  bad. 

As  a  result,  the  really  good  pictures  in  such  exhibitions  are 
not  appreciated  at  their  true  value,  while  the  poor  are  bought 
simply  because  they  are  there. 

The  truth  is  it  requires  the  new  salons,  the  independent 
exhibitions  to  give  vitality  to  the  old,  to  teach  the  public  to 
appreciate  the  good  in  the  old. 

Good  art,  like  everything  else  good,  springs  from  contro¬ 
versy,  from  the  assertion  of  the  individual,  from  the  mighty 
struggle  of  every  sincere  and  enthusiastic  man  to  convince 


A  FUTILE  PROTEST 


59 


the  world  that  he  is  right  and  that  his  works  and  ways  are 
better  than  those  of  all  other  men. 

❖  <S>  <$> 

That  is  just  what  the  new  men  are  striving  to  do  now  — 
each  is  trying  to  convince  the  world  he  is  right,  that  his 
methods,  his  departures,  his  theories  are  true. 

The  Cubist  does  not  admit  much  of  value  in  the  Futurist, 
while  the  latter  see  nothing  at  all  in  Cubism.  In  short  the 
“isms”  are  more  at  war  among  themselves  than  with  the 
older  schools. 

Out  of  the  seething  conflict  of  forces  good  is  sure  to 
come ;  the  amount  of  good  depending  directly  upon  the  sharp¬ 
ness  of  the  conflict. 


V 


WHAT  IS  CUBISM? 


WHAT  is  “Cubism?” 

One  more  name  added  to  the  long  roll  of  “move¬ 
ments  ”  in  art.  Within  the  memory  of  living  men  we  have 
had  “  Classicists,”  “  Romanticists,”  “  Idealists,”  “  Naturalists,” 
“  Realists,”  “  Pre-Raphaelites,”  and  many  more. 

Today  we  have  the  “  Neo-Impressionists,”  the  “  Pointil- 
ists,”  the  “  Luminists,”  the  “  Futurists,”  the  “  Orphists,”  the 
“  Sensationalists,”  the  “  Compositionalists,”  the  “  Synchro- 
nists,”  the  “  Cubists  ”  —  tomorrow? 

New  and  ever  new  departures,  experiments,  achievements. 
All  of  which  goes  to  prove  that  art  is  living,  for  the  sign 
of  life  is  flux. 

<$><$><$> 


The  other  day  I  saw  three  well-known  American  painters 
standing  before  a  cubist  picture  laughing;  painters  of  forty 
years  ago  would  have  laughed  quite  as  heartily  at  the  zvorks  of 
each  of  the  three. 

The  innovation  of  today  is  the  conventional  of  tomorrow. 

Because  the  names  of  Rembrandt  and  Hals  are  now  house¬ 
hold  words  in  art  we  are  quick  to  assume  their  pictures  were 
always  considered  great.  Not  so. 

Just  now  it  is  a  fad  of  millionaires  to  own  Rembrandts, 
consequently  he  is  over-appreciated  and  ridiculously  over¬ 
priced. 

<$><$><$> 


The  bare  thought  of  the  scorn  that  greeted  Wagner’s 
operas,  the  poems  of  Browning,  and  Whitman,  sends  a  cold 

60 


METZINGER 
The  Taster 


w 

i  wi 


LEGER 
The  Chimneys 


WHAT  IS  CUBISM? 


61 


chill  down  our  backs,  makes  us  pause  in  our  headlong  criti¬ 
cism  lest  we,  too,  pillory  ourselves. 

Violent  judgments  are  good  fun,  but  they  often  come  back 
to  plague  us.  Of  Wagner’s  “ Meistersinger ”  Ruskin  said: 

Of  all  the  bete,  clumsy,  blundering,  boggling,  baboon-headed 
stuff  I  ever  saw  on  a  human  stage  that  thing  last  night  —  as  far 
as  the  story  and  acting  went  —  and  of  all  the  affected,  sapless,  soul¬ 
less,  beginningless,  endless,  topless,  bottomless,  topsiturviest,  tuneless, 
scrannelpipiest,  tongs  and  boniest  doggerel  of  sounds  I  ever  endured 
the  deadliness  of,  that  eternity  of  nothing  was  the  deadliest  as  far 
as  its  sound  went.  I  never  was  so  relieved,  so  far  as  I  can  remember, 
in  my  life  by  the  stopping  of  any  sound,  not  excepting  railroad  whis¬ 
tles,  as  I  was  by  the  cessation  of  the  cobbler’s  bellowing;  even  the 
serenader’s  caricatured  twangle  was  a  rest  after.  As  for  the  great 
“  Lied,”  I  never  made  out  where  it  began  or  where  it  ended  except 
by  the  fellow’s  coming  off  the  horse  block. 

From  which  the  inference  is  not  unwarranted  that  Wag¬ 
ner  did  not  please  Ruskin! 

<$>  <e>  <s> 

Opposed  to  all  movements  in  art  and  life  is  the  academic 
mind,  fed  on  learning,  steeped  in  tradition,  hence  conserva¬ 
tive. 

The  term  is  not  here  used  in  a  reproachful  sense;  on  the 
contrary,  the  philosopher  lays  stress  upon  the  value  of  the 
academic  in  progress;  it  is  the  element  that  preserves;  it  is 
the  mass  upon  which  humanity  rests ;  it  is  the  old  and  stable ; 
it  is  the  past  upon  which  the  future  is  built;  it  is  the  essential 
groundwork  of  new  thought  and  new  effort. 

<$><$><$> 

The  life  of  the  individual  passes  from  the  enthusiasms, 
the  radicalisms  of  youth  to  the  serene  and  self-satisfied  out¬ 
look  of  old  age  which  instinctively  opposes  novelty  and 
change  —  the  academic  attitude. 

Youth  makes  friends  with  every  chance  acquaintance,  age 
shuns  the  strange. 


62  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


We  are  all  Impressionists  and  Futurists  at  some  times  in 
our  lives,  but  we  tend  to  petrify.  Sclerosis  of  the  arteries  is 
bad,  but  nothing  compared  with  sclerosis  of  the  emotions. 
We  not  only  tend  to  become  petrified  as  we  grow  older,  but 
even  in  our  youth  we  have  our  petrified  sides,  our  hard  spots. 

However  progressive  we  may  be  in  certain  directions  we 
are  sure  to  be  stubbornly  conservative  in  others. 

The  man  who  laughs  at  a  cubist  picture  may  be  a  cubist  — 
that  is,  an  innovator  —  in  his  profession  or  business. 

The  man  who  is  a  conservative  in  religion  may  be  a 
radical  in  politics,  and  vice  versa.  As  a  matter  of  fact  most  of 
the  followers  of  Lloyd  George  in  England  are  the  greatest 
sticklers  for  the  inerrancy  and  the  literal  interpretation  of  the 
Scriptures,  while  most  of  the  hide-bound  conservatives  are 
exceedingly  tolerant  toward  “modernism”  and  “higher  criti¬ 
cism”  in  the  church. 

So  it  goes.  The  merchant  or  manufacturer,  the  doctor  or 
lawyer  who  is  up  to  date  in  business  or  profession,  who  is 
keenly  receptive  toward  the  latest  and  most  revolutionary 
methods,  inventions,  discoveries,  may  be  —  usually  is  —  a 
hopeless  reactionary  toward  other  lines  of  human  endeavor, 
a  hopeless  conservative  when  it  comes,  for  instance,  to  look¬ 
ing  at  pictures. 

<$><$><$> 

Now  and  then  one  meets  a  man  so  sympathetically  ob¬ 
servant  and  receptive  that,  like  a  good  rubber  ball,  he  is  re¬ 
silient  at  all  points  of  contact.  But  for  the  most  part  we 
are  like  defective  balls,  resilient  only  in  spots,  and,  like  rub¬ 
ber,  we  become  less  and  less  resilient  with  age. 

<$>❖<$> 

Happy  the  man  or  woman  who  retains  until  late  in  life 
the  power  to  react  to  new  impressions  and  to  experience  new 
emotions. 


WHAT  IS  CUBISM? 


63 


The  trouble  with  most  of  us  is  that  even  when  we  do  react 
to  new  impressions  and  experience  new  emotions  we  are 
afraid  to  admit  it.  If  any  one  of  us,  while  alone  in  a  museum, 
happened  to  run  across  a  strange  painting  or  a  strange  piece 
of  sculpture  —  say  a  Javanese  or  a  cubist  production  —  we 
would  not  burst  out  laughing  any  more  than  we  would  laugh 
at  some  of  the  archaic  sculptures  and  primitive  works  that 
are  found  in  every  great  collection.  On  the  contrary,  we 
would  probably  study  it  with  good  healthy  curiosity.  But 
when  the  crowd  is  about  we  are  afraid  to  express  our  curi¬ 
osity,  we  are  afraid  to  be  honestly  and  genuinely  interested, 
so  we  take  refuge  in  laughter,  it  is  so  much  easier  to  mask 
our  ignorance  with  ridicule  than  confess  it  by  frankly  asking 
for  information. 

The  man  who  does  not  understand  a  play  or  a  book 
always  condemns  it. 

<S>  <$>  <$> 

It  would  not  be  difficult  to  pick  out  among  one’s  business 
acquaintances  those  who  are  conservative,  that  is,  academic, 
and  those  who  are  inventive,  speculative,  venturesome,  and 
so  on  to  the  “wild  enthusiasts,”  “crazy  fellows,”  who  are 
always  doing  the  unexpected;  failing  often  but  sometimes 
succeeding  so  brilliantly  the  world  follows  in  their  footsteps. 

<$>  <e>  <$> 

There  is  nothing  strange  about  the  Cubists  —  except  their 
pictures.  Their  pictures  strike  us  as  strange  because  we  do 
not  understand  them,  but  if  they  were  simply  trying  to  do 
what  thousands  of  inventors  are  trying  to  do  the  world  over, 
namely,  devise  something  new  to  meet  the  needs  of  mankind 
we  would  laugh  at  them  no  more  than  —  and  just  as  much 
as  —  the  world  laughed  at  the  Wright  brothers  when  they 
were  working  on  the  flying  machine. 


64  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


There  are  romanticists,  realists,  impressionists,  futurists, 
cubists,  in  the  theater. 

The  romantic  play  is  an  old,  but  still  delightful  story.  We 
have  had  realism  on  the  stage  so  long  it  has  become  almost 
academic.  Just  now  there  is  coming  from  the  Scandinavian 
countries  and  from  Germany  and  Russia  a  form  of  dramatic 
representation  that  is  essentially  Cubist,  Futurist,  and  Or- 
phist  in  its  expression.* 

This  ferment  of  new  ideas  is  very  disturbing  to  men  who 
are  afraid  of  change,  who  favor  things  as  they  are,  who  like 
to  go  to  bed  at  the  same  hour  and  get  up  at  the  same  hour,  to 
do  today  what  they  did  yesterday.  But  the  new  ideas  will 
not  down;  they  are  constantly  breaking  out  in  unexpected 
places  and  while  they  may  seem  to  be  different  ideas  when 
expressed  in  music,  painting,  sculpture,  poetry,  architecture, 
from  those  expressed  in  science,  religion,  politics,  social  re¬ 
form,  and  business  generally,  they  are  not ;  they  are  all  funda¬ 
mentally  the  same,  namely,  they  are  the  ideas  of  a  progress 
so  rapid  and  radical  it  may  be  revolutionary  and  in  a  measure 
destructive. 

<e>  <e>  <$> 

In  the  very  nature  of  things  it  is  not  given  to  many  men 
to  be  receptive  to  new  ideas  in  many  lines,  for  that  implies 
thinking  for  themselves  in  many  lines.  The  more  intense 
and  advanced  a  man  is  in  one  line  of  thought,  the  more  apt 
he  is  to  accept  ready  made  the  ideas  of  others  in  other  sub¬ 
jects.  It  is  a  saving  of  time  for  the  radical  scientist  to  accept 
his  politics  and  religion  ready  made  from  those  who  devote 
their  time  to  those  matters  —  the  scientist  does  not  always 
do  so,  but  often  when  he  thinks  he  is  asserting  his  independ¬ 
ence  by  rejecting  current  beliefs  he  is  doing  so  without  any 
real  ideas  and  convictions  of  his  own. 

*  See  “  The  New  Spirit  in  Drama  and  Art,”  by  Huntley  Carter. 


k  S-.l 

■f  i  j 

rM 

:  .i  .- 

.  MgB:y 

1  'i:  1 

i' 

L63SS 


WHAT  IS  CUBISM? 


65 


What  has  been  said  so  far  has  been  a  plea  for  tolerance, 
for  a  sober  suppression  of  hasty  judgment  in  the  presence  of 
the  strange. 

Few  men  seem  able  to  control  their  resentments  and 
risibilities  in  the  presence  of  paintings  that  seem  to  contra¬ 
dict  all  the  teachings  and  traditions  of  art;  but  because  they 
do  seem  to  stand  in  opposition  to  all  we  have  been  taught  to 
believe,  they  are  all  the  more  worthy  our  most  serious  con¬ 
sideration.  It  is  the  man  who  challenges  and  denies  who 
stirs  other  men  to  think  for  themselves.  That  is  the  chief 
value  of  the  cubist  paintings  —  they  compel  us  to  think  for 
ourselves,  to  take  a  careful  inventory  of  our  stock  of  stereo¬ 
typed  notions;  with  the  result  that  while  we  may  not  accept 
the  theories  of  the  Cubists,  we  cannot  fail  to  readjust  our 
own  notions  on  a  broader  basis. 


❖  <$><$> 

I  should  be  very  sorry  if  any  reader  should  take  up  this 
volume  under  the  impression  it  is  a  plea  for  Cubism  or  any 
other  “  ism  ”  in  either  art  or  life.  If  it  is  a  plea  for  anything, 
it  is  for  tolerance  and  intelligent  receptivity,  for  an  attitude  of 
sympathetic  appreciation  toward  everything  that  is  new  and 
strange  and  revolutionary  in  life.  Not  that  we  will  necessarily 
end  by  accepting  the  new  and  the  strange  and  the  revolu¬ 
tionary,  but  we  cannot  get  the  good  there  may  be  in  them 
unless  our  attitude  is  one  of  sympathetic  as  well  as  critical 
receptivity. 

<$><$><$> 

It  is  something  more  than  a  mere  coincidence  that  the 
upheaval  in  the  art  world  has  paralleled  the  upheaval  in  the 
political  world.  The  exhibitions  of  extreme  modern  pictures 
were  first  held  in  England  just  when  extreme  radical  theories 
were  gaining  the  ascendency.  The  International  Exhibition 


66  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


in  America  followed  hot  in  the  footsteps  of  the  split  in  the 
Republican  party  and  the  triumph  of  the  Democratic  along 
lines  so  progressive  as  to  seem  almost  socialistic. 

The  artists  who  organized  the  exhibition  did  not  realize 
it,  but  they  were  animated  by  precisely  the  same  motive  that 
animated  the  organizers  of  the  Progressive  party  —  an  irre¬ 
sistible  desire  for  a  change. 

<$><$><$> 

Youth  gazes  curiously  at  the  experiment  —  painting,  poem, 
play  —  from  which  age  turns  in  anger. 

Cubist  paintings  interest  the  young;  they  irritate  the  old. 

Nothing  keeps  a  man  young  so  effectually  as  a  vivid  and 
sympathetic  interest  in  every  new  and  seemingly  revolutionary 
movement. 

<$>  <S> 

People  who  looked  at  the  cubist  paintings  and  laughed 
did  so  through  ignorance;  the  sad  part  was  that  many 
frankly  said  they  did  not  care  to  understand;  not  a  few 
insisted  the  paintings  were  quite  without  meaning,  utterly 
devoid  of  sense. 

In  other  words,  the  public,  day  after  day  and  week  after 
week,  struggled  and  paid  to  see  works  that  were  meaningless! 

Painters,  sculptors,  critics,  argued  and  fought  over  can¬ 
vases  devoid  of  significance!  A  paradox!  For  if  devoid  of 
significance,  why  should  the  world  of  artists,  critics,  writers, 
argue,  swear,  and  fight  over  them? 

The  question  answers  itself;  the  trouble  is  the  works  do 
possess  a  significance,  a  significance  far  beyond  the  merits 
of  any  particular  one,  far  beyond  the  merits  of  cubism  itself; 
they  are  significant  of  the  spirit  of  change  that  is  within  and 
about  us,  the  spirit  of  unrest,  of  the  striving,  of  the  searching 
for  greater  and  more  beautiful  things. 


WHAT  IS  CUBISM? 


67 


Cubism  will  pass  away,  but  the  spirit  of  change  will  not 
pass  away.  One  enthusiasm  will  follow  another  enthusiasm 
so  long  as  men  possess  ambition. 

Already  there  are  signs  that  Cubism  is  passing.  Some 
of  the  men  are  calling  themselves  Neo-Cubists  and  Post- 
Cubists,  and  they  are  painting  in  very  different  manner. 

One  has  but  to  look  at  a  series  of  Picasso’s  work  to  see 
how  often  and  radically  he  has  changed  his  style  in  these  ten 
years  from  drawing  and  painting  with  great  facility  and 
success  in  Impressionistic  and  Neo-Impressionistic  manner 
to  the  most  abstract  Cubism;  what  he  will  be  doing  two 
years  hence,  no  one  can  predict,  save  that,  judging  by  the 
past,  he  will  not  be  painting  Cubist  pictures. 

<S>  <$>  <$> 

The  name  “  Cubism  ”  was  given  to  the  new  school  “  in 
derision,  in  the  autumn  of  1908,  by  Henri  Matisse,  who 
happened  to  see  a  picture  of  buildings  the  cubical  representa¬ 
tion  of  which  struck  him  forcibly.”  * 

That  year  Georges  Braque  exhibited  a  Cubist  picture  in 
the  Salon  des  Independents. 

In  1910,  Jean  Metzinger  exhibited  a  Cubist  portrait  in 
the  Salle  d’Automne,  and  a  number  of  pictures  were  hung 
in  the  Salon  des  Independents. 

The  first  collection  was  gathered  together  in  room  41  at 
the  Salon  des  Independents  in  1911.  The  same  year  the 
first  exhibition  outside  of  Paris  was  held  in  Brussels,  and 
there  the  names  “  Cubism  ”  and  “  Cubistes  ”  were  adopted. 

In  1911  the  exposition  of  the  Cubists  in  the  Salle  d’Au¬ 
tomne  caused  considerable  sensation.  Gleizes,  Metzinger, 
Leger,  and,  for  the  first  time,  Marcel  Duchamp  and  his 
brother,  the  sculptor-architect,  Duchamp-Villon,  exhibited. 

*  This  and  the  following  chronological  information  are  from  “  Les 
Peintres  ‘  Cubistes,’  ”  by  Guillaume  Apollinare,  22  et  seq. 


68  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


Other  expositions  were  held  in  November,  1911,  at  the 
gallery  d’Art  Contemporaine  rue  Tronchet;  in  1912,  at  the 
Salon  des  Independents,  where  Juan  Gris  first  exhibited;  in 
May  of  the  same  year,  in  Barcelona;  in  June,  at  Rouen, 
where  Picabia  joined  the  new  school. 

The  different  tendencies  of  the  movement  are  described 
as  follows :  * 

1.  Cubism  scientifque  is  the  tendency  toward  pure  cubism; 
it  is  the  painting  with  elements  borrowed  not  from  the  real¬ 
ities  of  vision,  but  the  realities  of  knowledge.  The  geomet¬ 
rical  lines,  which  so  impressed  all  who  first  saw  their  scientific 
works,  resulted  from  the  attempt  to  paint  the  essential  — 
rather  than  the  visual  —  realities  of  things  which  were  ren¬ 
dered  on  canvas  with  an  abstract  purity,  and  in  which 
objective  realities  and  story-telling  qualities  were  eliminated. 

Most  of  Picasso’s  geometrical  representations  and  Du¬ 
champ’s  “  King  and  Queen  ”  are  good  illustrations  of  scientific 
or  pure  Cubism. 

2.  Cubism  physique  is  painting  compositions  the  elements 
of  which  are  borrowed  for  the  most  part  from  realities  of 
vision.  Inasmuch  as  objective  realities  are  more  or  less  in 
evidence  in  these  works,  they  are  not  pure  Cubism. 

Picasso’s  “Woman  and  the  Pot  of  Mustard”  is  a  very 
striking  —  and  indifferent  —  example  of  Cubism  physique, 
which  simply  means  cubist  paintings  in  which  figures  and 
objects  are  more  or  less  apparent  to  the  casual  observer. 
In  Marcel  Duchamp’s  “Chess  Players”  the  figures  are  quite 
plain ;  in  Picabia’s  “  Dance  at  the  Spring  ”  one  figure  is 
distinguishable  at  first  glance,  the  second  is  not  so  easily 
discerned,  while  the  spring  is  more  obscure,  though  plain 
enough  after  a  little  study. 

It  is  under  this  head  that  some  of  the  most  interesting 

*  “  Les  Peintres  ‘  Cubistes,’  ”  pp.  24-26. 


WHAT  IS  CUBISM? 


69 


and  also  some  of  the  most  exasperating  cubist  pictures  will 
be  found.  To  the  extent  that  figures  and  objects  are  blocked 
in  in  planes  and  masses  in  a  big,  elemental  way,  the  result 
may  be  both  impressive  and  beautiful  —  Derain’s  “  Forest 
at  Martigues”  is  an  example  in  point;  but  in  so  far  as  the 
picture  is  a  puzzle ,  clear  only  in  part,  the  result  is  exasperat¬ 
ing  ;  the  observer,  however  sympathetic  his  attitude,  is 
diverted  from  enjoying  the  art  of  the  painter  to  the  attempt 
to  discover  the  hidden  objects. 

To  the  foregoing  two  divisions  are  added  two  more,  which 
are,  in  reality,  but  subdivisions  or  refinements  of  Cubism 
Scientifique. 

There  are  really  but  the  two  extremes  —  those  who  repre¬ 
sent  objects  more  or  less  cubically,  i.  e.,  in  planes  and  masses 
of  line  and  color;  and  those  who  compose  harmonies  of  line 
and  color  that  have  no  relation  to  figures  or  objects. 

In  the  paintings  of  the  one,  objects  are  more  or  less 
apparent;  in  those  of  the  other  no  object  is  discernible,  be¬ 
cause  none  is  represented  or  suggested. 

3.  Cubism  Orphique  is  created  entirely  by  the  artist;  it 
takes  nothing  from  visual,  objective  realities,  but  is  derived 
wholly  from  the  painter’s  imagination;  it  is  pure  art. 

4.  Cubism  instinctive  is  described  as  the  painting  of  com¬ 
positions  of  color,  not  based  upon  objective  realities,  but 
suggested  by  the  instinct  and  intentions  of  the  artist.  The 
artist  who  follows  his  instinct,  his  fancy  of  the  moment, 
though  he  may  paint  beautiful  compositions,  lacks  the  clear 
comprehension  of  him  who  paints  according  to  some  well 
thought  out,  artistic  creed. 

3>  ❖  <$> 

It  is  quite  obvious  that  subdivisions  three  and  four  are 
based  upon  temperamental  rather  than  logical  or  scientific 
distinctions. 


70  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


To  refer  to  some  of  the  pictures  reproduced: 

There  is  no  mystery  about  the  “  Man  on  the  Balcony.” 
He  is  quite  in  evidence;  the  background  is  a  little  puzzling, 
yet  fairly  obvious.  The  attention  of  the  casual  observer  is 
not  diverted  from  the  mode  and  manner  of  painting  —  from 
the  Cubism  of  the  picture,  so  to  speak. 

It  is  not  a  question  of  “  Now  I  see  it,  now  I  don’t  see  it.” 
It  is  obviously  the  figure  of  a  man  leaning  on  something, 
apparently  a  railing,  with  a  confused  background.  But  so 
far  as  uncertainty  regarding  the  background  and  accessories 
is  concerned,  that  troubles  no  one,  for  uncertainty  in  detail  is 
characteristic  of  the  backgrounds  of  many  fine  and  famous 
portraits. 

The  point  is  that  the  “  Man  on  the  Balcony  ”  belongs  to 
that  class  of  Cubist  pictures  wherein  the  object  is  almost  as 
well  defined  as  in  pictures  with  which  the  public  is  more 
familiar ;  whereas  the  “  King  and  Queen  ”  belongs  to  the 
extreme  class  wherein  the  objects  have  been  reduced  to 
symbols  or  abstractions. 

The  one  is  the  painting  of  objects  in  Cubist  fashion;  the 
other  is  the  painting  of  ideas  in  Cubist  fashion. 

<$>  <3>  <$> 

Of  all  the  Cubist  pictures  exhibited,  most  people  liked 
“The  Man  on  the  Balcony”  best.  Why? 

Because  it  looked  like  a  good  painting  of  a  man  in  armour. 

“  I  like  the  ‘  Man  in  Armour,’  ”  was  an  expression  fre¬ 
quently  heard. 

All  of  which  goes  to  show  that  appreciation  is  largely  a 
matter  of  association  rather  than  of  knowledge  and  taste. 

Tell  the  people  it  is  not  a  man  in  armour,  and  imme¬ 
diately  they  ask,  in  a  tone  of  disgust,  “Then  what  is  he?” 
and  the  picture  they  liked  a  moment  before  becomes  ridicu¬ 
lous  in  their  eyes. 


GLEIZES 

Original  drawing  for 
“Man  on  Balcony” 


WHAT  IS  CUBISM? 


71 


The  original  design  is  an  almost  academic  freehand  draw¬ 
ing  of  a  man  —  artist  or  workman  —  leaning  against  the 
railing  of  a  balcony,  with  roofs  of  the  city  at  his  back.  Bar¬ 
ring  the  square  treatment  of  hand  and  foot,  there  is  little  to 
suggest  Cubism. 

The  drawing  is  uninteresting,  the  painting  is  uninteresting. 
By  blocking  out  details,  emphasizing  planes,  and  laying  stress 
on  masses,  the  artist  made  his  painting  incomparably  more 
dignified  and  stronger  than  his  design. 

If  he  had  painted  an  academic  picture,  following  the  lines 
of  his  original  sketch,  the  painting  probably  would  have  been 
quite  commonplace. 

<$>  <S>  <$> 

The  “  Chess  Players  ”  gives  one  a  singular  impression  of 
human  absorption  in  a  game;  it  is  elemental  and  impersonal. 
Behind  the  two  players  are  onlookers,  equally  intent.  One 
player  is  resting  his  chin  upon  his  hand,  the  other  holds  a 
piece  apparently  making  a  move.  The  artist  has  arbitrarily 
placed  the  men  and  board  close  to  the  eye  of  the  player 
making  the  move. 

While  most  people  might  prefer  lifelike  portraits  of  two 
men  playing  chess,  is  it  not  true  that  this  curious  reduction 
of  the  players  to  elemental  planes  and  masses  gives  a  very 
vivid  impression  of  intense  absorption,  and  also  a  strange 
feeling  of  the  elemental?  A  sculptor  admired  this  picture 
greatly. 

<$><$><$> 

Two  figures  were  the  basis  of  the  “  King  and  the  Queen,” 
the  king  at  the  right,  and  the  queen  at  the  left;  but  in  the 
finished  picture  these  two  figures  were  reduced  to  planes, 
and  appear  as  the  two  upright  conical  or  cubical  masses  that 
are  so  evident,  and  a  philosophical  significance  was  attributed 
to  the  scheme,  namely,  a  representation  of  the  static  and 


72  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


dynamic  forms  of  life ;  the  static  being  represented  in  the 
upright  masses,  the  king  and  queen  —  dynastic,  permanent  — 
while  the  dynamic  forces  are  represented  in  the  stream  of 
cubical  forms  that  flow  in  different  directions  about  the  two 
more  permanent  masses. 

On  its  technical  side,  Cubism  is  simply  a  systematic  use 
of  planes. 

<*><$><$> 

The  power  of  lines  is  a  manifestation  of  the  new  mode  of  repre¬ 
sentation. 

It  is  not  a  semblance  of  things,  but  a  world  of  objects  that  the 
picture  forces  us  to  take  in  with  a  glance.  The  objects  may  not  get 
lost.  The  outline  is  the  demarcation  and  designation  of  the  objects. 
By  its  outer  essence  their  inner  nature  is  expressed.  The  nature  of 
objects  is  not  fixed  by  a  correct  drawing,  but  by  a  forceful  and  emo¬ 
tional,  intensive  and  pervasive  outline.  Not  in  their  restfulness  and 
with  their  details  do  the  objects  serve  the  picture,  but  by  their  rela¬ 
tions  to  each  other,  which  relations  combined  lead  up  to  the  climax. 

The  long  lines  form  the  structure  of  the  picture.  They  decide 
how  the  picture  is  to  be  constructed  from  its  parts,  and  how  the 
parts  are  to  be  interlocked  in  order  to  become  a  whole.  The  long 
lines  define  the  measure  and  rhythm  of  the  work.  Lines  are  the 
vibrations  of  the  soul;  lines  are  reflections  of  the  will,  the  rigidity 
of  that  which  endures.  Like  currents  of  forces  they  flow  against 
each  other  and  unite  into  one.  The  smaller  ones  accompany  them 
with  playful  gambols,  like  a  multiple  echo,  the  sounds  of  which 
melt  away  in  the  distance. 

The  picture  is  not  a  nicely  divided  plane.  It  is  like  a  world 
arising  from  chaos.  Its  essence  is  the  law  of  order  working  itself  out. 
The  picture  is  an  agglomeration  of  agitated  members,  an  agglomera¬ 
tion  of  planes  pulsating  with  blood,  enlivened  by  breath. 

The  planes  may  be  stratified,  parallel  and  similar  to  each  other; 
they  may  rear  and  pile  themselves  against  each  other,  or  they  may 
interlock  like  cogs.  They  may  liquefy  and  melt  away,  or  they  may 
double  up  and  form  themselves  into  balls.  They  may,  more  quietly, 
rest  within  themselves,  becoming  effective  through  the  contrast  of 
their  essence  and  yet  maintaining  themselves.  Out  of  them  origi¬ 
nates  the  picture’s  spaciousness,  out  of  them  the  living  force  of  the 
picture. 

The  dynamics  of  the  planes  is  a  manifestation  of  the  new  style.* 

*  “  Das  Neue  Bild,”  Otto  Fischer,  pp.  12-13. 


WHAT  IS  CUBISM? 


73 


Passing  one  morning  among  a  number  of  first  year  stu¬ 
dents  drawing  from  casts  in  the  Chicago  Art  Institute,  I 
was  struck  by  the  large  number  who  were  making  what 
would  pass  for  Cubist  sketches ;  yet  not  one  of  these  young 
students  had  seen  a  Cubist  picture.  All  were  simply  following 
the  regular  course  of  instruction  and  drawing  in  planes. 

I  remember  one  drawing  of  a  statue  by  Michael  Angelo. 
There  was  not  a  straight  line  in  the  statue ;  there  was  not 
a  curved  line  in  the  drawing;  the  drawing  was  blocked  out 
far  more  solidly  and  geometrically  than,  for  instance,  either 
the  original  design  for  “The  Man  on  the  Balcony”  or  the 
finished  painting. 

In  another  room  I  ran  across  a  teacher  who  was  indi¬ 
cating  by  a  few  geometrical  lines  drawn  from  points  the 
essential  features  of  a  statue  the  pupil  was  about  to  begin 
blocking  in.  The  lines  looked  exactly  like  the  geometrical 
lines  in  a  drawing  by  Picasso. 

There  is,  therefore,  nothing  fundamentally  new  or 
strange  in  the  technic  of  the  Cubists;  it  is  simply  a  return 
to  the  use  of  the  elemental  in  drawing,  of  the  very  A,  B,  C 
of  design.  The  new  and  the  strange  lie  in  the  fact  that  the 
Cubists  stop  with  planes  and  lines;  they  do  not  attempt  to 
model  the  surfaces  of  the  things  they  paint. 

<S>  <$>  <$> 

Not  that  the  use  of  planes  is  all  there  is  to  the  theory  of 
Cubism,  for  the  theory  extends  far  beyond  the  painting  of 
surfaces;  it  embraces  the  presentation  of  the  very  substance 
and  nature  of  persons  and  objects  by  means  of  a  technic  in 
which  planes  are  the  vital  feature. 

<$><$><$> 

Albert  Durer  wrote  a  book  on  the  proportions  of  the 
human  figure;  it  was  published  in  1528,  and  translated  into 
many  languages. 


74  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


He  reduced  the  human  figure  to  certain  elemental  lines.* 


Applying  these  principles  to  the  hand,  he  gets  this  result: 


It  is  interesting  to  compare  this  sectional  diagram  of  the 
hand  with  the  hand  of  “  The  Man  on  the  Balcony.” 

Furthermore,  one  has  but  to  consider  the  elemental  lines 
at  the  top  of  the  page  with  the  words  of  Cezanne,  quoted  on 
page  43,  and  with  the  fundamental  propositions  of  Chinese 
and  Japanese  art,  to  realize  that  in  the  last  analysis  the 


*  See  “The  Mask,”  Vol.  VI,  pp.  64-75. 


PICASSO 

Woman  with  Mandolin 


PICASSO 
The  Poet 


WHAT  IS  CUBISM? 


75 


minds  of  men  in  all  ages  and  all  countries  follow  very  closely 
the  same  channels. 

There  are  but  two  lines,  curved  and  straight,  and  with 
these  two  lines  all  outward  semblances  of  things  are  con¬ 
structed.  So  far  as  the  unaided  eye  is  concerned,  every 
curved  line  may  be  entirely  composed  of  small  straight  lines, 
the  curved  effect  being  due  to  a  series  of  minute  angles. 

The  following  are  Durer’s  diagrams  showing  how  to  obtain, 
sections  and  modifications: 


He  applies  these  sections  to  the  human  figure  as  follows: 


76  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


WHAT  IS  CUBISM? 


78  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


So  far  as  the  use  of  planes  and  angles  is  concerned,  these 
diagrams  by  Durer  should  serve  to  disarm  criticism.  That 
the  human  figure  can  be  decomposed  into  straight  lines  and 
angles  will  be  a  revelation  to  most  of  those  who  laughed  at 
the  Cubist  paintings,  and  only  the  authority  of  a  great  name 
would  convince  that  any  good  could  result  from  such  an 
analysis. 

Suppose  any  one  of  the  Durer  diagrams  had  been  framed 
and  hung  in  the  Cubist  section;  would  it  not  have  been 
treated  with  ridicule? 

The  men  who  arranged  the  exhibition  could  have  played 
with  critics  and  artists  —  the  men  who  claim  to  know  —  by 
including  many  things  of  recognized  position  in  academic  art 
and  teachings,  which  would  have  seemed  as  absurd  as  the 
newest  of  the  new  pictures. 

<$>  <S>  <S> 

The  very  high  aesthetic  value  of  drawing  and  painting 
in  planes,  and  with  small  regard  to  the  so-called  laws  of 
perspective,  is  illustrated  in  the  rare  beauty  of  Chinese  and 
Japanese  paintings.  From  the  point  of  view  of  their  greatest 
painters,  we  carry  perspective  and  imitation  to  extremes  that 
destroy  art. 

One  value  of  the  Cubist  movement  lies  in  arousing  a 
sense  of  the  strength  possessed  by  the  simple  and  elemental. 

In  oriental  art,  in  archaic  art,  in  primitive  Italian  art,  in 
not  a  little  modern  decorative  work,  we  have  long  recognized 
the  beauty  of  drawing  in  planes  and  of  the  use  of  color  arbi¬ 
trarily.  The  Cubists  are  showing  us  —  perhaps  too  violently 
and  imperfectly  —  that  it  is  possible  to  paint  pictures  and 
portraits  in  planes  and  masses  without  imitation.  That  it  is 
possible  we  know,  for  the  orientals  have  done  it  for  two 
thousand  years ;  nevertheless,  we  stubbornly  resist  the 
attempt  in  western  art. 

We  acknowledge  the  singular  beauty  of  the  Italian  prim¬ 
itives,  yet  we  demand  that  portraits  and  paintings  of  today 


WHAT  IS  CUBISM? 


79 


shall  be  carefully,  modelled  in  the  vain  effort  to  accurately 
and  mechanically  copy  nature. 

❖  <$><$> 

In  some  of  Sargent’s  best  portraits  not  only  the  lights 
and  shadows  but  character  and  personality  are  indicated  by 
brush-strokes  as  arbitrary  in  line  and  color  as  those  of  a 
Cubist  —  strokes  that  follow  neither  the  lines  nor  the  colors 
of  the  original,  but  which  convey  with  tremendous  power 
the  character. 

Again,  we  all  know  how  insipid  are  most  of  the  portraits 
that  are  faithfully  rounded  and  modelled  to  reproduce  every 
curve  of  the  sitters’  features. 

The  truth  is  there  is  more  of  Cubism  in  great  painting 
than  we  dream,  and  the  extravagances  of  the  Cubists  may 
serve  to  open  our  eyes  to  beauties  we  have  always  felt 
without  quite  understanding. 

Take,  for  instance,  the  strongest  things  by  Winslow 
Homer;  the  strength  lies  in  the  big,  elemental  manner  in 
which  the  artist  rendered  his  impressions  in  lines  and  masses 
which  departed  widely  from  photographic  reproductions  of 
scenes  and  people. 

Rodin’s  bronzes  exhibit  these  same  elemental  qualities, 
qualities  which  are  pushed  to  violent  extremes  in  Cubist 
sculpture.  But  may  it  not  be  profoundly  true  that  these 
very  extremes,  these  very  extravagances,  by  causing  us  to 
blink  and  rub  our  eyes,  end  in  a  finer  understanding  and 
appreciation  of  such  work  as  Rodin’s? 

His  Balzac  is,  in  a  profound  sense,  his  most  colossal 
work,  and  at  the  same  time  his  most  elemental.  In  its 
simplicity,  in  its  use  of  planes  and  masses,  it  is  —  one  might 
say,  solely  for  purposes  of  illustration  —  Cubist,  with  none 
of  the  extravagances  of  Cubism.  It  is  purely  Post-Impres¬ 
sionistic. 


80  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


Twenty  or  twenty-five  years  ago  painters  who  used  a 
broad  technic,  and  especially  those  who  used  the  palette 
knife  to  lay  the  pigment  in  flat  sweeps,  were  looked  upon 
as  charlatans  and  sensationalists.  Today  their  pictures  are 
accepted  in  the  most  conservative  exhibitions  and  the  public 
passes  with  scarcely  a  comment. 

This  broad  technic  is  simply  painting  in  planes  —  in  a 
sense,  simply  modified  Cubism. 

To  illustrate: 

The  surface  of  an  orange  may  be  so  carefully  painted  or 
modelled  in  clay  that  the  effect  is  a  perfect  sphere  with  no 
straight  lines;  or  it  may  be  painted  or  modelled  in  minute 
planes  and  no  curved  lines;  or  the  use  of  planes  may  be 
carried  so  far  the  orange  is  represented  by  angles  so  sharp 
the  shape  is  almost  cubical  —  it  is  all  a  question  of  the  extent 
to  which  the  artist  carries  the  use  of  plane  surfaces.  The 
fewer  the  planes  used  and  the  larger  their  size,  the  nearer 
the  substance  and  more  obvious  the  representation  of  mass. 

The  smaller  the  planes  and  the  larger  their  number,  the 
nearer  the  surface  —  the  more  superficial  the  representation. 

❖  <$><$> 

The  division  of  planes  can  be  carried  —  geometrically  — 
to  such  an  extent  that  the  unaided  eye  can  no  longer  distin¬ 
guish  the  minute  flat  surfaces,  and  the  effect  is  a  perfect 
sphere. 

What  is  true  concerning  the  painting  or  modelling  of  an 
orange  is  true  of  the  painting  or  modelling  of  all  objects. 

<$>  <$> 

“  It  has  been  charged  that  the  new  men  are  too  much  given 
to  the  geometrical.  But  geometrical  figures  are  the  essen¬ 
tial  elements  of  drawing.  Geometry,  the  science  which  deals 
with  extension,  its  measure  and  its  relations,  has  ever  been 
the  basis  of  painting. 


SEVERINI 
The  Milliner 


WHAT  IS  CUBISM? 


81 


“  Up  to  the  present  time  the  three  dimensions  of  Euclid 
have  sufficed  to  express  the  problems  that  infinity  gives  rise 
to  in  the  souls  of  great  artists. 

“  Geometry  is  to  the  plastic  arts  what  grammar  is  to  the 
art  of  the  writer. 

“  Today  philosophers  do  not  confine  their  speculations  to 
the  three  dimensions  of  Euclid.  Painters,  by  intention,  so  to 
speak,  have  cause  naturally  to  preoccupy  themselves  with 
these  new  lines  of  extension  which,  in  the  language  of  modern 
studios,  are  classed  under  the  term,  fourth  dimension.”  * 

❖  <$><$> 

Speaking  of  Cezanne,  it  is  said: 

To  him  a  sphere  was  not  always  round,  a  cube  always  square,  or 
an  ellipse  always  elliptical.  Thus  the  traditional  oval  of  the  con¬ 
ventional  face  disappeared  in  his  portraits,  the  generally  accepted 
round  surfaces  of  a  vase  or  bowl  was  represented  as  flat  and  dented 
in  spots  and  the  horizontal  stability  of  the  horizon  was  rendered 
elliptical  whenever  it  so  appeared  to  him. 

The  general  truthfulness  of  his  observations  may  readily  be 
tested  by  any  one  of  normal  vision  who  will  carefully  observe  the 
actual  appearance  of  the  surfaces  of  a  round  sugar  bowl,  for  example, 
when  placed  in  the  light  of  a  window.  It  will  be  found  that  certain 
planes  are  as  flat  as  the  table,  that  others  present  the  appearance  of 
dents  and  hollows,  and  the  more  clearly  this  is  perceived  the  more 
grotesque  will  the  object  appear  as  compared  with  the  preconceived 
image  of  it  established  in  our  minds  by  the  unconscious  interaction 
of  the  sense  of  touch  and  sight. 

We  know  that,  scientifically  regarded,  there  is  no  such  thing  as 
a  round  surface,  that  what  appears  to  be  such  is  simply  the  closely 
adjusted  juxtaposition  of  infinitesimal  planes  that  are  each  perfectly 
flat.  And  the  very  fact  that  painters  refer  to  the  surface  of  a  figure 
as  planes  is  indicative  of  a  partial  recognition  of  this  basic  char¬ 
acteristic  of  structure.  Nevertheless,  both  artists  and  laymen  per¬ 
sist  in  speaking  of  the  roundness  of  a  torso,  for  example,  when  in 
reality,  if  we  could  disassociate  the  sense  of  roundness  from  the 
appearance  of  roundness  as  did  Cezanne,  we  would  find  large  surfaces 
of  spheroids  quite  flat.  Therein  lies  the  real  secret  of  the  art  of 
Cezanne  who  is  the  first  of  realists. 

*  “  Les  Peintres  ‘  Cubistes,’  ”  Guillaume  Apollinare,  p.  15. 


82  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


In  a  sense,  “  Cubism  ”  is  a  misleading  term,  for,  in  the 
first  place,  “Cubist”  pictures  are  not  painted  in  cubes,  but 
in  all  sorts  of  angles  and  curves;  in  the  second  place,  the 
theory  does  not  call  for  angles. 

The  theory  being  the  expression  of  emotion  in  line  and 
color,  there  is  no  conceivable  reason  why  cubes  and  angles 
should  be  used  to  the  exclusion  of  curves,  swirls,  sweeps, 
dashes.  On  the  contrary,  of  all  forms,  cubes  and  angles 
would  seem  to  be  the  most  inappropriate  for  emotional 
expression,  since  they  are  peculiarly  suggestive  of  the  geo¬ 
metrical  and  the  matter-of-fact. 

“Curvism”  or  “Swirlism”  would  describe  the  movement 
just  as  well,  save  that  for  the  time  being  angles  are  very 
much  in  evidence. 

Picabia  says  that  “  Cubism  ”  is  a  misnomer  for  the  move¬ 
ment.  He  says: 

After  impressionism,  neo-impressionism,  then  cubism,  which 
sought  a  geometric  third  dimension  in  painting,  the  expression  of 
things  seen  in  geometrical  figures.  But  a  purely  subjective  art 
cannot,  of  course,  be  bound  by  any  form  of  expression  the  moment 
that  expression  becomes  a  convention,  an  established  body  of  laws 
with  accepted  values.  Therefore,  he  has  cut  loose  from  cubism,  and 
is  what,  again  for  handy  classification  —  an  evil  habit  from  which  we 
cannot  emancipate  ourselves  —  may  perhaps  best  be  called  “post- 
cubist,”  with  entirely  unfettered,  spontaneous,  ever-varying  means  of 
expression  in  form  and  color  waves,  according  to  the  commands,  the 
needs,  the  inspiration  of  the  impression,  the  mood  received.  Objec¬ 
tive  expression  is  strictly  barred.  He  even  ignores  form  as  far  as 
possible,  seeking  “color  harmonies.”  Harmony  and  equilibrium  are 
his  device. 

❖  <$><$> 

But  the  Cubists  are  rapidly  getting  away  from  the  cubes 
and  angles.  It  is  quite  possible  that  a  year  or  two  hence 
we  shall  see  no  more  purely  Cubist  pictures. 

That  does  not  mean  the  movement  will  come  to  an 


WHAT  IS  CUBISM? 


83 


end  —  not  at  all.  The  movement  toward  abstract  painting, 
toward  the  use  of  line  and  paint  on  canvas  for  mere  pleasure 
of  using  them,  and  without  copying  objects  in  either  life  or 
nature,  is  in  its  infancy. 

<$><$><$> 

“  But  I  don’t  understand  them !  ” 

Is  it  necessary  to  your  enjoyment  that  you  should? 

Do  you  understand  what  Caruso  is  singing? 

Do  you  understand  that  French  song  reproduced  by  the 
phonograph? 

Do  you  understand  what  the  orchestra  is  playing? 

Do  you  understand  the  pattern  in  that  Persian  rug? 

How  many  people  who  rave  over  Japanese  art  have  the 
remotest  idea  what  this  or  that  precious  print  or  painting 
represents? 

Does  an  intricate  design  on  a  bit  of  Oriental  pottery 
please  you?  And  is  your  enjoyment  lessened  one  whit  by 
the  fact  it  is  all  a  mystery  to  you? 

Why  will  you  accept  as  beautiful  and  buy  at  a  high  price 
a  painting  you  do  not  understand  because  it  is  by  a  Chinese 
artist,  and  reject  as  ugly  the  painting  by  a  French  artist 
simply  because  you  cannot  see  “  what  he  is  driving  at  ”  ? 

<$><$><$> 

Suppose  a  Cubist  picture  is  a  beautiful  scheme  of  color; 
is  it  less  beautiful  in  color  because  you  do  not  understand 
the  painter’s  theory?  His  painting  may  be  fine,  his  theory 
absurd. 

Would  your  enjoyment  of  Caruso  be  increased  if  he  sang 
in  English  the  ridiculous  stuff  he  sings  in  Italian? 

Fortunate  it  is  for  most  grand  opera  that  we  do  not 
understand  —  we  are  not  diverted  from  the  music  by  the 
nonsense  of  the  libretto. 


84  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


The  enjoyment  of  music  is  a  curious  thing. 

First  of  all,  there  are  all  kinds  of  music,  from  rag-time 
to  Beethoven,  and  each  kind  has  its  following. 

Then  the  following  of  each  kind  breaks  up  into  its  rag¬ 
time  and  Beethoven  divisions. 

That  is  to  say,  in  an  audience  listening  to  rag-time  there 
are  always  a  few  who  enjoy  the  music  in  a  Beethoven  way  — 
for  what  there  is  of  real  value  in  it. 

While  in  an  audience  listening  to  a  Beethoven  symphony 
there  are  always  a  goodly  number,  often  a  big  majority, 
who  enjoy  it  in  a  rag-time  way  —  just  the  emotional  re¬ 
action,  without  knowing  a  thing  about  the  music. 

There  are  two  entirely  distinct  enjoyments  of  the  same 
composition  —  the  purely  intellectual  and  the  purely  emo¬ 
tional.  There  may  be  a  mingling  of  the  two,  but  as  a  rule 
what  one  gains  the  other  loses. 

The  man  who  follows  the  score,  is  familiar  with  the 
different  interpretations  of  this  and  that  leader,  whose  ear 
catches  every  failure  by  any  part  of  the  orchestra  to  respond, 
and  so  on,  and  so  on  —  that  man  is  constantly  holding  his 
emotional  response  subject  to  his  intellectual  appreciation. 
What  is  a  fine  performance  to  most  of  the  audience  may  be 
a  very  indifferent  performance  to  him. 

True,  when  the  performance  is  so  fine  it  carries  him  off 
his  feet,  then  he  gets  an  enjoyment  —  intellectual  and  emo¬ 
tional —  far  finer  than  the  enjoyment  experienced  by  others. 
In  a  sense,  he  is  the  one  man  worth  playing  for. 

But  while  it  is  a  fine  thing  to  both  understand  and  enjoy, 
understanding  is  not  essential  to  enjoyment  in  the  purely 
emotional  sense  —  to  the  enjoyment  most  people  feel  when 
listening  to  music. 

The  voice  of  a  street  singer  borne  in  upon  the  night  air, 
even  the  sound  of  a  hurdy-gurdy,  pleases,  though  we  do  not 


y yr  jj/' 

r  t€  i 

Afc.  V  -  **»>**  | 

j 

i 

ifcfA>*-^i»»{asi« 

-  ”w»  >  B  •  - 

■ 

f 

I 

1  ^ 

WHAT  IS  CUBISM? 


85 

know  the  song  or  the  air.  There  is  a  species  of  pleasure  in 
not  knowing  that  is  dissipated  when  we  recall  or  are  told. 

Many  of  our  enjoyments  are  more  than  half  dreamy. 
Is  it  not  true  that  the  dreamy  element  is  essential  to  purely 
emotional  enjoyment? 

I  confess  to  a  very  ignorant  enjoyment  of  music.  If  I 
am  at  a  concert  I  do  not  like  to  be  told  what  it  is  all  about. 
I  enjoy  good  music  without  knowing  or  caring  why,  and 
I  like  to  hear  it  without  being  seated  where  I  am  more 
than  half-hypnotized  by  the  rhythmical  movements  of  the 
orchestra,  especially  the  fascinating  bowing  of  the  violins. 

<$><$><$> 

What  is  true  of  the  enjoyment  of  music  should  be  true 
of  the  enjoyment  of  painting.  But  with  painting,  most 
people  insist  upon  understanding.  They  will  listen  to  Patti 
without  knowing  her  language,  but  they  will  not  look  at  a 
painting  unless  they  know  the  painter’s  language. 

<$><$><$>  f 

Why  not  accept  at  their  face  value  all  pictures  that  are 
beautiful  in  line  and  color,  without  bothering  about  their 
meaning?  Perhaps  they  have  no  meaning  beyond  the 
vagrant  fancy  of  the  artist. 

Take  the  three  pictures  by  Sousa  Cardoza.  Suppose  they 
have  no  more  significance  than  so  many  illustrations  to  a 
fairy  tale;  they  are  interesting  in  line  and  fascinating  in 
color.  If  the  Stronghold  had  been  on  a  Delft  platter, 
or  the  Leap  of  the  Rabbit  ”  on  a  piece  of  Persian  pottery, 
everyone  would  have  lauded  their  beauty,  and  collectors 
would  give  ten  or  twenty  times  the  modest  prices  of  the 
canvases. 

When  put  to  people  in  that  matter-of-fact  way  the  re¬ 
sponse  is  almost  always  favorable  to  the  pictures. 


86  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


In  an  interesting  monograph  entitled  “Is  It  Art?”* 
the  writer  says: 

It  will  be  seen,  therefore,  that  the  efforts  of  these  men  to  give 
a  subjective  rendering  of  actuality  results  in  nothing  better  than  a 
poorly  realized  form  of  objectivity  which  is  as  much  the  creation  of 
the  spectator  as  of  the  artist,  inasmuch  as  the  vaguely  adumbrated 
forms  in  the  picture  simply  serve  as  a  hint  to  that  reality  of  which 
it  is  a  wilfully  distorted  symbol,  and  the  discovery  of  the  “mustard 
pot  ”  would  scarcely  have  been  possible  without  the  happy  coopera¬ 
tion  of  the  title  with  the  spectator’s  previous  knowledge  of  the  actual 
appearance  of  a  mustard  pot. 

Without  the  intervention  of  the  title  and  the  association  of  ideas 
called  forth  thereby  through  the  memory  of  past  experiences  with 
actuality,  these  pictures  would  be  totally  meaningless  even  to  the 
most  recondite.  They  would  inevitably  be  reduced  to  a  personal 
system  of  shorthand,  an  individual  code,  as  it  were,  comprehensible 
only  to  the  originator. 

Regarded  from  that  viewpoint,  these  enigmatic  paintings  and 
drawings  may  very  possibly  be  altogether  successful.  At  all  events 
it  is  only  fair  to  assume  that  these  works  express  to  the  originator 
what  he  intended  them  to  express.  But  it  is  quite  obvious  that  they 
express  something  quite  different  to  the  spectator  who  has  not  been 
initiated  into  the  meaning  of  this  personal  form  of  shorthand,  and 
the  appending  of  an  objective  title  to  what  is  intended  as  a  subjective 
impression  of  the  actual  world  hardly  help  him  over  the  difficulty. 
On  the  contrary  it  takes  him  just  that  far  away  from  the  impression 
the  artist  desires  to  produce,  plunging  him  deeper  into  that  world 
of  reality  out  of  which  he  was  to  be  extricated  by  this  new  art,  and 
there  is  no  doubt  that  in  the  minds  of  even  the  most  intelligent  spec¬ 
tator  it  only  serves  to  reenforce  his  conception  of  reality  upon  which 
he  is  forced  to  fall  back  by  the  objective  titles  as  well  as  the  concrete 
representations  of  what  is  supposed  to  be  a  subjective  mood. 

I  think  it  may  safely  be  said  that  in  no  case  does  this  mood 
manifest  itself  to  the  persons  to  whom  it  is  addressed,  although  by  a 
process  of  auto-hypnotism,  a  certain  few  no  doubt  succeed  in  making 
themselves  believe  that  they  penetrate  the  real  inwardness  of  these 
arbitrarily  individual  mental  processes.  Granted  that  these  very  dis¬ 
cerning  ones  do  respond  to  the  real  intention  of  these  abstractions 
it  cannot  be  denied  that  this  work  is  the  most  circumscribed  in  its 

*  “  Is  It  Art?  Post-Impressionism,  Cubism,  Futurism,”  by  J.  N. 
Laurvik.  The  sub-title  is  obviously  confusing,  since  Post-Impression¬ 
ism  includes  all  the  developments  following  Impressionism. 


WHAT  IS  CUBISM? 


87 


appeal  of  anything  so  far  produced  in  the  name  of  art  and,  until  its 
working  premise  is  made  clearer,  its  influence  must  be  correspond- 
ingly  limited.  At  present  it  appears  to  me  to  be  a  too  purely  personal 
equation  to  be  intelligible  to  others  than  the  artist  himself  and  there¬ 
fore,  generally  speaking,  it  can  not  be  regarded  as  art,  whatever  else 
it  may  be.  For  that  that  communicates  nothing  expresses  nothing 
and  as  the  office  of  art  is  first  and  last  expression  this  new  form  is  as 
yet  outside  of  the  domain  of  art. 

But  that  makes  the  attitude  of  the  obsei'ver  the  test 
whether  a  given  product  is  or  is  not  art,  while  the  true 
test  is  the  attitude  of  the  producer. 

Whethei  a  given  work  is  or  is  not  art  is  determined  and 
forever  fixed  at  the  time  of  its  production.  If  art  to  him 
who  creates  it,  it  is  art  to  all  humanity  for  all  time;  neither 
a  man’s  neighbors  nor  future  generations  can  deprive  it  of 
its  character. 

3>  <$>  <$> 

Quite  a  good  many  years  ago  I  made  the  attempt,  in 
lecture  and  book  form,  to  define  art.* 

What  is  Art?  The  question  is  as  old  as  man  himself,  for  we 
have  no  records  of  men  without  some  manifestation  of  the  art 
impulse.  .  .  . 

Man  is  the  combination  of  thought  and  symbol ,■  thought  striving 
to  express  itself,  and  symbol,  the  means  whereby  it  achieves  that  end. 
The  symbol  may  be  sound,  word,  or  song;  or  it  may  be  line,  form, 
or  structure;  it  matters  not.  A  cry  is  the  language  of  the  child; 
speech  is  the  every-day  utterance  of  the  man;  the  heart  of  the  singer 
bursts  forth  in  song;  the  musician  speaks  in  harmonies,  the  painter 
in  line  and  color,  the  sculptor  in  form,  the  architect  in  structure,  the 
poet  in  rhyme  and  rhythm  —  and  each  is  silent  save  in  his  own 
way.  .  .  . 

Now  what  is  the  distinction  between  thought  expression  which 
is  art  and  thought  expression  which  is  not  art ? 

In  its  broadest  significance,  and  in  its  very  essence,  art  is  delight 
in  thought  and  symbol. 

Mark  the  union  — art  is  delight  in  both  the  thought  and  the 

*“  Delight;  the  Soul  of  Art,”  p.  9  et  seq. 


88  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


symbol.  Without  the  double  delight  —  the  combination  of  these  two 
quite  distinct  delights,  there  can  be  no  art. 

To  the  writer  of  prose  there  may  come  a  beautiful  fancy;  he 
delights  in  it  and  hastens  to  record  his  thought.  He  may  write  the 
most  flowing,  the  most  perfect  prose,  but  as  he  writes  he  is  still 
occupied  with  his  thought;  his  sole  object  is  to  find  words  which  will 
but  express  it.  The  same  fancy  comes  to  the  poet;  he,  too,  delights 
in  it,  and  seeks  to  record  it;  but  when  the  poet  touches  pen  to  paper 
he  is  seized  with  a  new  and  an  entirely  distinct  delight,  a  delight  in 
his  method  of  expressing  his  thought;  he  may  even  permit  his  delight 
in  his  symbol,  the  flow,  rhythm  and  ring  of  rhyme,  to  sweep  him 
onward  in  forgetfulness  of  his  first  fancy  —  literature  is  filled  with 
such  examples. 

Now  and  then  a  writer  of  prose  expresses  himself  so  finely, 
writes  so  well,  that  we  feel  instinctively  and  immediately  not  only 
the  delight  in  the  thought,  but  also  a  certain  amount  of  delight  in  the 
manner  of  expressing  the  thought,  in  the  style,  .  .  .  and  to  the  extent 
of  the  double  delight  such  prose  is  art,  for  art,  as  we  shall  see,  is  by 
no  means  confined  to  the  five  so-called  fine  arts. 

No  hard  and  fast  line  can  be  drawn  between  that  which  is  art 
and  that  which  is  not  art,  the  one  fades  imperceptibly  into  the  other. 

And  farther  on  in  the  same  little  volume:* 

The  current  notions  of  art  are  such  and  the  current  notions  of 
labor  are  such  that  it  may  seem  to  most  of  you  as  though  any 
attempt  to  discuss  the  two  together  could  result  only  in  a  waste  of 
words;  yet  time  was  when  art  and  labor  were  so  intimately  united 
in  the  great  domain  of  human  effort  that  the  one  almost  invariably 
implied  more  or  less  of  the  other;  and  the  time  will  yet  be  when 
there  will  be  no  labor  without  at  least  some  art,  even  as  there  is  now 
and  ever  has  been  no  art  without  at  least  some  labor. 

Art  lies  not  in  the  employment,  but  in  the  manner  of  the  employ¬ 
ment  of  the  powers  of  nature  for  an  end;  not  in  the  task,  but  in  the 
attitude  of  the  worker  towards  his  task. 

<$><$><$> 

Whether  a  Cubist  painting  is  or  is  not  art  does  not 
depend  upon  the  opinion  of  either  critic  or  multitude;  if 
it  did  it  would  be  art  to  one  man  and  not  to  another,  art  to 
one  generation  and  not  to  another  —  an  illogical  conclusion. 


*“  Delight;  the  Soul  of  Art,”  lecture  V,  “  Delight  in  Labor.” 


VAN  REES 
Still  Life 


WHAT  IS  CUBISM? 


89 


Most  Cubist  pictures  are  plainly  the  work  of  men  who 
are  profoundly  moved  by  an  idea  and  who  are  striving  to 
express  that  idea  in  a  highly  original  manner.  It  may  be 
the  manner  they  have  chosen  is  so  abstract,  so  scientifically 
theoretical,  that  it  will  in  the  end  —  if  pursued  —  kill  the 
imagination,  stifle  all  delight,  and  so  result  in  failure  as 
art  expression;  but  so  long  as  the  men  take  sincere  delight 
in  both  what  they  are  trying  to  say  and  their  manner  of 
utterance,  it  is  impossible  to  deny  the  character  of  art  to 
their  works. 

In  proportion  to  their  originality  and  daring,  there  may 
be  more  of  living  and  vital  art  in  what  they  are  doing  than 
in  the  art  of  the  academic  painter  who  follows  in  the  foot¬ 
steps  of  others  without  any  particular  effort. 

In  other  words,  it  is  quite  conceivable  there  may  be 
more  of  vital  and  living  art  in  a  movement  doomed  to 
failure  than  in  a  movement  that  has  achieved  success  and 
become  stagnant. 

The  vitality  lies  in  the  element  of  earnest  striving  rather 
than  in  the  direction  the  striving  takes. 


VI 


THE  THEORY  OF  CUBISM 


HE  art  that  is  at  hand  is  a  highly  subjective  art  as 


A  distinguished  from  the  highly  objective  art  of  the  Impres¬ 
sionist  and  Realist,  but  no  man  can  say  just  what  forms  this 
new  art  will  assume. 

Cubism  is  one  attempt,  Futurism  is  another,  Composi¬ 
tional  painting  is  another;  there  will  be  many  more  attempts 
before  freedom  of  expression  is  attained. 

Cubism  is  interesting  because  it  accentuates  the  value  of 
planes  and  shows  what  can  be  done  with  elemental  propo¬ 
sitions  in  drawing.  But  the  student  or  painter  who  turns  to 
Cubism  because  he  thinks  it  is  to  become  a  fad  and  will  pay, 
runs  the  risk  of  making  a  great  mistake;  he  would  better 
stick  to  older  methods. 


❖  <$><$> 


The  Orphists  have  been  mentioned;  there  were  no 
Orphist  pictures  in  the  International  Exhibition.  The  move¬ 
ment  is  based  on  the  purely  practical  proposition  that  color 
in  itself,  and  color  alone  without  drawing,  may  be  beautiful. 
So  they  just  place  lines  and  masses  of  color  on  a  canvas 
and  frame  the  canvas. 

It  sounds  absurd,  yet  the  theory  is  the  very  foundation 
of  wall  decoration,  of  interior  furnishing,  of  dressmaking  — 
the  mere  juxtaposition  of  masses  of  color,  with  or  without 
pattern. 

The  Orphist  “picture”  may  not  be  much  of  a  picture  in 
the  accepted  sense  of  the  term,  but  it  may  afford  pleasure  as 
a  color  combination  and  may  be  of  very  real  value  to  the 


90 


THE  THEORY  OF  CUBISM  91 

decorator,  the  furnisher,  the  dressmaker,  the  scene-painter, 
the  costumer. 

The  theory  is  not  new.  So  long  as  man  has  loved  color 
he  has  used  it  irrespective  of  pattern. 

One  part  of  the  theory  of  the  Cubists  is  as  old  as  that 
of  the  Orphists.  It  is  simply  that  the  painter  can  do  with 
line  and  color  what  the  composer  does  with  sound.  In  other 
words  they  demand  the  same  freedom  in  the  use  of  line  and 
color  that  every  great  composer  has  in  the  use  of  sound. 

If,  for  instance,  a  great  musician  composes  a  pastoral 
symphony  does  he  imitate  the  mooing  of  cows,  the  bleating 
of  lambs,  the  rippling  of  brooks?  Such  attempts  would  be 
recognized  as  cheap  in  the  extreme. 

“Very  well,”  the  Cubist  says,  “if  I  paint  a  pastoral  sym¬ 
phony  why  should  I  so  much  as  suggest  cows,  sheep,  land¬ 
scape,  brook?  Why  should  people  insist  upon  seeing  in  my 
painting  what  they  cannot  hear  in  Mozart’s  or  Beethoven’s 
music?” 

<$>❖<$> 

The  comparison  which  Picabia  is  fondest  of  making  is 
that  with  absolute  music.  The  rules  of  musical  composition, 
he  points  out,  are  sufficiently  hampering  in  themselves  to  the 
composer’s  mood,  or  call  it  inspiration.  Words,  as  of  songs, 
still  further  confine  his  vision  of  melody,  even  though  they 
give  in  the  beginning  the  impression  that  evokes  the  mood. 
Songs  without  words,  the  expression  of  the  impression  made 
on  him  by  a  great  poem  without  the  necessity  of  following 
in  musical  form  the  literary  form  of  the  poet,  leave  him 
far  freer,  give  his  subjectivity  far  wider  scope.  Modern  com¬ 
posers  have  rebelled  against  the  old  fetters;  modern  painters 
have  begun  to  feel  the  same  need  of  a  freer,  an  absolute 
method  of  expression.  Hence,  “post-impressionism,”  which 
refuses  altogether  to  be  bound  by  objectivity,  by  literal  repro- 


92  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


duction  of  the  object  seen,  in  connection  with  the  mood, 
the  after-impression,  received  and  fixed  on  the  canvas.  A 
composer  may  be  inspired  by  a  walk  in  the  country,  says 
M.  Picabia,  and  produce  a  production  of  the  landscape  scene, 
of  its  details  of  form  and  color?  No;  he  expresses  it  in  sound 
waves,  he  translates  it  into  an  expression  of  the  impression, 
the  mood.  And  as  there  are  absolute  sound  waves,  so  there 
are  absolute  waves  of  color  and  form.  Modern  music  has 
won  its  way;  this  modern  painting,  too,  will  find  appreciation 
and  understanding  in  the  days  to  come. 

<$>  <S>  <$> 

The  Cubists  have  set  themselves  a  hard  task.  It  is  a  good 
deal  easier  to  sing  an  emotion  than  paint  one.  It  is  a  good 
deal  easier  to  paint  an  object  than  sing  one  —  therein  lies  the 
trouble. 

Yet  in  the  beginning  both  music  and  painting  were  imi¬ 
tative.  Music  imitated  natural  sounds;  drawing  and  paint¬ 
ing  imitated  natural  objects. 

But  soon  men  began  to  sing  for  the  pleasure  of  singing 
and  play  on  instruments  for  the  pleasure  of  playing,  and  the 
imitation  of  natural  sounds  was  left  far  behind  as  primitive 
and  elemental,  and  music  tended  to  become  more  and  more 
expressive  of  emotions,  elemental  emotions  at  first,  finer  and 
purer  emotions  later,  until  in  the  western  world  abstract 
purity  was  reached  in  Beethoven. 

Since  Beethoven  there  has  been  a  reaction  to  more  imi¬ 
tative  music,  as  in  the  operas  of  Wagner. 

While  music  departed  farther  and  farther  from  imitation 
of  natural  sounds,  drawing  and  painting  progressed  toward 
the  more  perfect  representation  of  natural  objects. 

Or  rather  painting  developed  along  two  distinct  lines  — 
one  the  more  perfect  representation  of  objects  for  the  sake  of 
the  representation;  the  other  compositions  of  line  and  color  — 


BLOCH 
Summer  Night 


BLOCH 
The  Duel 


THE  THEORY  OF  CUBISM 


93 


not  imitative  —  for  the  sake  of  the  pleasure  afforded  by  the 

pattern  and  the  color  scheme. 

This  second  development  parallels  that  of  music  —  com¬ 
positions  of  line  and  color,  like  compositions  of  sound  for  the 
pleasure  they  give,  and  not  for  the  associations  they  arouse. 

Strange  as  it  may  sound,  it  is  nevertheless  true,  that  four- 
fifths  of  the  pleasure  we  get  in  our  daily  lives  out  of  line  and 
color  is  not  from  the  imitative  development,  the  picture  side, 
but  from  the  non-imitative,  the  abstract  side. 

Our  clothes,  our  homes,  our  public  buildings,  our  cities, 
our  landscapes  are  made  beautiful  by  the  use  of  line  and  color 
in  patterns  and  masses  —  in  harmonious  composition.  It  is 
only  here  and  there  that  we  come  in  contact  with  either  line 
or  color  used  imitatively. 

We  all  know  how  distressingly  tiresome  a  wall-paper 
becomes  if  it  is  made  up  of  imitative  scenes  —  that  is,  a  series 
of  pictures,  and  the  better  the  pictures  the  sooner  we  tire  of 
the  paper. 

While  a  paper  that  contains  no  imitative  spots,  or  in 
which  the  imitative  features  are  so  subdued  and  convention¬ 
alized  we  feel  them  rather  than  see  them,  may  be  restful  and 
pleasing ;  and  a  wall  that  is  a  monotone  if  bordered  by  wains¬ 
coting  and  frieze  in  monotones,  may  wear  the  best  of  all. 

<$><$><$>  > 

But  while  the  great,  the  practical  use  of  line  and  color 
followed  parallel  lines  with  sound  and  got  farther  and  farther 
away  from  imitative  features,  the  art  of  painting,  as  it  is  com¬ 
monly  called,  developed  in  just  the  opposite  direction,  it 
became  more  and  more  imitative,  until  of  late  years  it  would 
seem  that  the  last  word  has  been  said  in  the  reproduction  of 
natural  objects  and  natural  light  and  color  effects. 

Of  course  the  last  word  has  not  been  said,  and  never  will 
be  said  so  long  as  individuals  are  born,  but  so  much  has  been 


94  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


said  that  it  is  not  surprising  there  is  a  reaction,  nor  is  it  sur¬ 
prising  that  one  phase  of  this  reaction  should  be  an  attempt 
to  use  line  and  color  as  the  decorator  and  the  dressmaker 
and  a  thousand  others  use  them,  to  express  and  kindle  pleas¬ 
urable  emotions. 

In  short  it  is  not  surprising  that  the  painter  of  pictures 
should  awaken  to  the  realization  of  the  fact  that  others  use 
and  have  used,  from  the  beginning,  line  and  color  to  make 
delightful  compositions  that  have  no  relation  to  natural 
objects,  as  the  musician  uses  sound  to  make  delightful  com¬ 
positions  that  have  no  relation  to  natural  noises. 

<$>  <$>  <$> 

As  a  rule  women  have  a  finer  instinct  for  the  use  and 
arrangement  of  color  than  painters.  Few  wives  of  painters 
would  trust  their  husbands  to  decorate  their  dinner  tables. 

Look  at  the  gruesome  and  ugly  “still  fifes”  done  by 
painters  of  renown.  I  saw  one  the  other  day  of  some  fish 
on  a  platter  by  an  American  painter  famous  for  such  things. 
If  his  wife  had  found  that  platter  of  dead  and  clammy  fish  in 
her  drawing  room  she  would  have  exclaimed,  “  For  goodness 
sake,  how  did  that  get  in  here?  Take  it  back  to  the  kitchen.” 

<$><$><$> 

Look  at  the  naive  and  absurd  compositions  of  flowers 
and  fruit  that  painters  put  together  to  paint;  no  woman  of 
taste  would  permit  them  on  her  tea  table. 

I  know  a  charming  woman  whose  dinner  tables  are  a 
dream  of  beauty,  veritable  compositions  in  which  flowers 
and  fruits  and  lights  and  every  detail  are  far  more  thought¬ 
fully  considered  than  are  the  details  in  most  pictures.  In 
short,  without  knowing  it  she  creates  a  work  of  art  each  time 
she  entertains.  Imagine  what  her  table  would  be  if  left  to 
an  artist  or  a  committee  of  artists  —  or  her  husband! 


THE  THEORY  OF  CUBISM  95 

Most  painters’  studios  are  either  devoid  of  all  color 
arrangement  or  positively  ugly. 

So  far  as  color  goes  many  a  portrait  owes  its  success  more 
to  the  modiste  than  the  artist. 

<$><$><$> 

From  the  painting  of  color  harmonies  and  line  harmonies 
it  is  but  a  step  to  insist  that  line  and  color  composition  may 
be  used  like  sound  compositions  to  express  one’s  moods  and 
emotions. 

That  is  what  these  modern  men  are  trying  to  do. 

You  may  not  think  it  is  possible  for  them  to  succeed  but 
why  should  you  ridicule  the  attempt? 

The  attempt  is  an  ambitious  one,  it  is  an  attempt  to  extend 
the  sphere  of  painting,  and  it  may  lead  to  new  and  beautiful 
things.  Should  we  not  watch  it  with  interest  and  sympathy 
even  if  you  think  it  foredoomed  to  failure? 

<$><$><$> 

Watch  a  painter  preparing  to  paint  a  picture  of  still  life.  He 
takes  a  vase  of  flowers  and  places  it  on  a  table;  beside  it  he  poses, 
perhaps  a  brass  bowl  and  some  other  objects,  having  regard  through¬ 
out  for  light  and,  above  all,  for  proportion  and  color.  That  is  when 
he  is  really  painting  his  picture,  when  he  is  really  composing,  receiv¬ 
ing  his  impression,  creating  his  subjective  mood.  The  objective  part 
of  his  work  is  done;  all  that  remains  now  is  to  give  expression  to 
that  impression,  that  mood.  Instead  of  thus  allowing  his  inspiration 
to  gain  its  full  value  and  significance,  he  sits  down  and  reproduces 
it  with  a  varying  degree  of  literalness.  He  becomes  nothing  more 
or  less  than  a  copyist,  a  photographer  of  his  own  work.  He  kills 
within  himself  its  subjective  values,  or,  at  best,  seeks  to  give  them 
expression  filtered  by  objectivity.  Or,  again,  consider  the  case  of 
the  portrait  painter.  He  studies  sitters  from  every  point  of  view, 
gathering  impressions.  Then  he  begins  to  experiment  with  poses, 
draperies,  light  effects,  seeking  to  heighten  the  impression  already 
received  from  the  sitter  himself.  At  last  he  is  content  with  pose, 
draperies,  background,  lights  —  his  picture  is  there.  But  why,  then, 
go  to  the  trouble  of  painting  it,  of  copying  it?  If  the  work  he  has 
done,  finished  in  all  its  details,  is  to  benefit  him,  he  must  proceed 


96  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


from  it  and  beyond  it.  His  real  work  then  is  to  communicate  to 
others  the  mood  awakened  in  him.* 


<$><$><§> 

In  another  interview  Picabia  said: 

You  of  New  York  should  be  quick  to  understand  me  and  my 
fellow  painters.  Your  New  York  is  the  cubist,  the  futurist  city. 
It  expresses  in  its  architecture,  its  life,  its  spirit,  the  modern  thought. 
You  have  passed  through  all  the  old  schools,  and  are  futurists  in 
word  and  deed  and  thought.  You  have  been  affected  by  all  these 
schools  just  as  we  have  been  affected  by  our  older  schools. 

Because  of  your  extreme  modernity  therefore,  you  should  quickly 
understand  the  studies  which  I  have  made  since  my  arrival  in  New 
York.  They  express  the  spirit  of  New  York  as  I  feel  it,  and  the 
crowded  streets  of  your  city  as  I  feel  them,  their  surging,  their  unrest, 
their  commercialism,  and  their  atmospheric  charm. 

You  see  no  form?  No  substance?  Is  it  that  I  go  out  into  your 
city  and  see  nothing?  I  see  much,  much  more,  perhaps,  than  you 
who  are  used  to  it  see.  I  see  your  stupendous  skyscrapers,  your 
mammoth  buildings  and  marvellous  subways,  a  thousand  evidences 
of  your  great  wealth  on  all  sides.  The  tens  of  thousands  of  workers 
and  toilers,  your  alert  and  shrewd-looking  shop  girls,  all  hurrying 
somewhere.  I  see  your  theater  crowds  at  night  gleaming,  flutter¬ 
ing,  smilingly  happy,  smartly  gowned.  There  you  have  the  spirit  of 
modernity  again. 

But  I  do  not  paint  these  things  which  my  eye  sees.  I  paint  that 
which  my  brain,  my  soul,  sees.  I  walk  from  the  Battery  to  Central 
Park.  I  mingle  with  your  workers,  and  your  Fifth  Avenue  mon- 
daines.  My  brain  gets  the  impression  of  each  movement;  there  is 
the  driving  hurry  of  the  former,  their  breathless  haste  to  reach  the 
place  of  their  work  in  the  morning  and  their  equal  haste  to  reach 
their  homes  at  night.  There  is  the  languid  grace  of  the  latter,  ema¬ 
nating  a  subtle  perfume,  a  more  subtle  sensuousness. 

I  hear  every  language  in  the  world  spoken,  the  staccato  of  the 
New  Yorker,  the  soft  cadences  of  the  Latin  people,  the  heavy  rumble 
of  the  Teuton,  and  the  ensemble  remains  in  my  soul  as  the  ensemble 
of  some  great  opera. 

At  night  from  your  harbor  I  look  at  your  mammoth  buildings. 
I  see  your  city  as  a  city  of  aerial  lights  and  shadows;  the  streets 
are  your  shadows.  Your  harbor  in  the  daylight  shows  the  shipping 

*  From  “  An  Interview  with  Francois  Picabia,”  in  the  “  New  York 
Tribune.” 


Landscape 


THE  THEORY  OF  CUBISM 


97 


of  a  world,  the  flags  of  all  countries  add  their  color  to  that  given 
by  your  sky,  your  waters,  and  your  painted  craft  of  every  size. 

I  absorb  these  impressions.  I  am  in  no  hurry  to  put  them  on 
canvas.  I  let  them  remain  in  my  brain,  and  then  when  the  spirit  of 
creation  is  at  flood-tide,  I  improvise  my  pictures  as  a  musician  im¬ 
provises  music.  The  harmonies  of  my  studies  grow  and  take  form 
under  my  brush,  as  the  musician’s  harmonies  grow  under  his  fingers. 
His  music  is  from  his  brain  and  his  soul  just  as  my  studies  are  from 
my  brain  and  soul.  Is  this  not  clear  to  you? 

<$>  <$>  <$> 

You  say  all  this  cannot  be  done. 

That  is  precisely  the  question,  and  one  thing  certain,  it 
cannot  and  will  not  be  done,  unless  some  one  tries  to  do  it. 

It  is  just  as  legitimate  to  attempt  to  express  one’s  emo¬ 
tions  by  the  use  of  line  and  color  as  by  the  use  of  sound  as 
in  music,  or  by  the  use  of  motion  as  in  pantomime. 

One  man  says,  “  I  will  paint  the  portrait  of  a  beautiful 
woman.” 

A  second  says,  “I  will  not  paint  her  portrait,  but  I  will 
put  on  canvas  a  composition  of  colors  so  joyous  it  will 
express  my  admiration  for  her.” 

A  third  says,  “  I  will  compose  a  sonata  or  a  symphony 
or  a  ‘  song  without  words  ’  to  express  my  love  for  her.” 

The  public  accepts  without  question  the  work  of  the  first 
and  third  —  the  portrait  painter  and  the  musician  —  but 
rejects  the  work  of  the  second  —  the  painter  of  harmonies. 
Why?  Because  he  does  not  copy  the  features  and  the  dress 

of  the  woman.  .  .  . 

<$><$><$> 

Picabia  again  says: 

Art,  art,  what  is  art?  Is  it  copying  faithfully  a  person’s  face? 
A  landscape?  No,  that  is  machinery.  Painting  Nature  as  she  is,  is 
not  art,  it  is  mechanical  genius.  The  old  masters  turned  out  by 
hand  the  most  perfect  models,  the  most  faithful  copies  of  what  they 
saw.  That  all  their  paintings  are  not  alike  is  due  to  the  fact  that 
no  two  men  see  the  same  things  the  same  way.  Those  old  masters 
were,  and  their  modern  followers  are,  faithful  depicters  of  the  actual, 


98  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


but  I  do  not  call  that  art  today,  because  we  have  outgrown  it.  It  is 
old,  and  only  the  new  should  live.  Creating  a  picture  without  models 
is  art. 

They  were  successful,  those  old  masters;  they  filled  a  place  in  our 
life  that  cannot  be  filled  otherwise,  but  we  have  outgrown  them.  It 
is  a  most  excellent  thing  to  keep  their  paintings  in  the  art  museums 
as  curiosities  for  us  and  for  those  who  will  come  after  us.  Their 
paintings  are  to  us  what  the  alphabet  is  to  the  child. 

We  moderns,  if  so  you  think  of  us,  express  the  spirit  of  the 
modern  time,  the  twentieth  century.  And  we  express  it  on  canvas 
the  way  the  great  composers  express  it  in  their  music. 

There  is  plenty  of  clear  expression  and  fine  enthusiasm 
in  those  three  paragraphs. 

<$><$><$> 

There  is,  however,  another  side  to  Cubism  and  one  not  so 
easy  to  understand. 

Painting  color  harmonies  for  the  sake  of  their  emotional 
effect  is  easy  of  comprehension.  But  when  the  Cubist  sets 
out  to  convey  the  impression,  not  of  the  surfaces,  but  of  the 
very  substance  of  things,  he  is  attempting  something  very 
different  from  what  has  heretofore  been  considered  within 
the  sphere  of  painting.  Possibly  he  is  attempting  something 
painting  cannot  do. 

The  theory  is  so  abstract  and  so  scientific  it  comes  near 
paralyzing  the  art.  It  is  too  coldly  logical  and  unemotional  to 
produce  great  art,  for  great  art  is  and  must  be  fundamentally 

emotional. 

Of  Picasso,  the  founder  and  leading  exponent  of  Cubism, 
a  sympathetic  writer  says: 

His  whole  tendency  is  a  negation  of  the  main  tenets  of  the  gospel 
of  Cezanne  whose  conception  of  form  he  rejects,  together  with 
Monet’s  conception  of  light  and  color.  To  him  both  are  non-existent. 
Instead  he  endeavors  “  to  produce  with  his  work  an  impression,  not 
with  the  subject,  but  the  manner  in  which  he  expresses  it,”  to  quote 
his  confrere,  Marius  De  Zayas,  who  studied  the  raison  d’etre  of  this 
work,  together  with  Picasso.  Describing  his  process  of  aesthetic 


THE  THEORY  OF  CUBISM 


99 


deduction  further,  M.  De  Zayas  tells  us  that  “he  (Picasso)  receives 
a  direct  impression  from  external  nature;  he  analyzes,  develops,  and 
translates  it,  and  afterwards  executes  it  in  his  own  particular  style, 
with  the  intention  that  the  picture  should  be  the  pictorial  equivalent 
of  the  emotion  produced  by  nature.  In  presenting  his  work  he 
wants  the  spectator  to  look  for  the  emotion  or  idea  generated  from 
the  spectacle  and  not  the  spectacle  itself. 

“  From  this  to  the  psychology  of  form  there  is  but  one  step, 
and  the  artist  has  given  it  resolutely  and  deliberately.  Instead  of 
the  physical  manifestation  he  seeks  in  form  the  psychic  one,  and 
on  account  of  his  peculiar  temperament,  his  psychical  manifestation 
inspires  him  with  geometrical  sensations.  When  he  paints  he  does 
not  limit  himself  to  taking  from  an  object  only  those  planes  which  the 
eye  perceives,  but  deals  with  all  those  which,  according  to  him,  con¬ 
stitute  the  individuality  of  form;  and  with  his  peculiar  fantasy  he 
develops  and  transforms  them. 

“  And  this  suggests  to  him  new  impressions,  which  he  manifests 
with  new  forms,  because  from  the  idea  of  the  representation  of  a 
being,  a  new  being  is  born,  perhaps  different  from  the  first  one,  and 
this  becomes  the  represented  being.  Each  one  of  his  paintings  is 
the  coefficient  of  the  impressions  that  form  has  performed  in  his 
spirit,  and  in  these  paintings  the  public  must  see  the  realization  of 
an  artistic  ideal,  and  must  judge  them  by  the  abstract  sensation 
they  produce,  without  trying  to  look  for  the  factors  that  entered  into 
the  composition  of  the  final  result. 

“As  it  is  not  his  purpose  to  perpetuate  on  canvas  an  aspect  of 
the  external  world,  by  which  to  produce  an  artistic  impression,  but 
to  represent  with  the  brush  the  impression  he  has  directly  received 
from  nature,  synthesized  by  his  fantasy,  he  does  not  put  on  the  can¬ 
vas  the  remembrance  of  a  past  sensation,  but  describes  a  present 
sensation.  ...  In  his  paintings  perspective  does  not  exist;  in  them 
there  are  nothing  but  harmonies  suggested  by  form,  and  registers 
which  succeed  themselves,  to  compose  a  general  harmony  which 
fills  the  rectangle  that  constitutes  the  picture. 

“  Following  the  same  philosophical  system  in  dealing  with  light, 
as  the  one  he  follows  in  regard  to  form,  to  him  color  does  not  exist, 
but  only  the  effects  of  light.  This  produces  in  matter  certain  vibra¬ 
tions,  which  produce  in  the  individual  certain  impressions.  From  this 
it  results  that  Picasso’s  paintings  present  to  us  the  evolution  by 
which  light  and  form  have  operated  in  developing  themselves  in  his 
brain  to  produce  the  idea,  and  his  composition  is  nothing  but  the 
synthetic  expression  of  his  emotion.” 

Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  he  tries  to  represent  in  essence  what 


100  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


seems  to  exist  only  in  substance.  And,  inasmuch  as  his  psychical 
impressions  inspire  in  him  geometrical  sensations,  certain  of  these 
exhibits  are  in  the  nature  of  geometrical  abstractions  that  have  little 
or  nothing  in  common  with  anything  hitherto  produced  in  art.  Its 
whole  tendency  would  appear  to  be  away  from  art  into  the  realm 
of  metaphysics. 

Here  is  a  design,  a  pattern  of  triangles,  ellipses  and  semi-circles 
that  at  first  glance  appears  to  be  little  more  than  the  incoherent 
passage  of  a  compass  across  the  paper  in  the  hands  of  some  absent- 
minded  engineer.  After  a  little  attentive  study,  however,  these  enig¬ 
matic  lines  resolve  themselves  into  the  semblance  of  a  human  figure 
and  one  begins  to  discover  a  clearly  defined  intention  behind  this 
apparent  chaos  of  ideated  sensations.  There  is  evident  a  method  in 
his  madness  which,  after  all,  may  only  be  truth  turned  inside  out. 
And  this  is  what  should  make  one  pause  and  investigate  the  matter 
further. 

The  fact  that  one  may  get  nothing  out  of  it  as  yet  in  the  way 
of  tangible  or  even  vaguely  experienced  emotions  is  beside  the  point. 
The  interest  in  this  whole  matter  rests  on  the  fact  that  here  is  re¬ 
vealed  a  new  form  of  aesthetic  expression  as  yet  only  tentative  and 
groping  perhaps,  but  reaching  out  in  new  directions.  And  it  must 
not  be  forgotten  that  the  pioneer  is  usually  misunderstood;  he  is  so 
far  in  advance  of  current  ideas  as  to  be  out  of  touch  with  his  fellow 
men  who  might  appropriately  be  called  follow-men,  they  lag  so  far 
behind  the  progress  of  new  ideas.  Cezanne  and  Picasso  —  they 
mark  the  parting  of  the  ways:  a  fulfilment  and  a  promise.  Quo 
Vadis?  * 

<$><$><$> 

Not  many  years  ago  Picasso  was  painting  under  the 
influence  of  the  pointillists.  Almost  every  year  he  changed 
his  style,  until  he  developed  the  pure,  the  geometrical  Cubism 
of  the  drawing  shown  herein.  He  had  a  period  of  paint¬ 
ing  very  uninteresting  blue  portraits,  one  of  which  was  shown 
at  the  exhibition. 

His  “Woman  with  the  Mustard  Pot”  belongs  with  his 
sculpture,  which  is  interesting  but,  to  most  people,  ugly. 

He  has  such  phenomenal  powers  of  absorption  and  his 
technical  facility  is  such  that  he  does  anything  he  pleases 

*J.  N.  Laurvik,  in  “Boston  Evening  Transcript.” 


PICASSO 

Drawing 


THE  THEORY  OF  CUBISM  101 

with  ease,  and  what  he  does  today  is  no  sure  indication  of 
what  he  will  attempt  tomorrow. 

For  the  moment  he  seems  absorbed  in  the  music  of  planes, 
so  to  speak.  Take,  for  instance,  a  still  life  wherein  there 
seem  to  be  a  pipe,  a  wall,  a  musical  instrument,  a  glass,  some¬ 
thing  like  a  stairway,  street  signs,  etc.  These  may  or  may 
not  have  been  the  objects  the  painter  had  before  him,  but 
whether  they  are  or  not  it  is  quite  clear  that  he  was  not 
content  with  dealing  with  superficial  planes,  that  is,  with  the 
visible  lines  and  surfaces  of  the  objects,  but  he  lets  the  planes 
project  and  intersect  very  much  as  if  the  objects  were  semi¬ 
transparent. 

To  state  the  matter  in  other  words  —  by  using  only  the 
essential  lines  of  an  object  and  treating  the  object  as  other¬ 
wise  more  or  less  transparent,  one  readily  understands  why 
the  essential  lines  of  all  objects  in  the  rear  show  through,  and 
the  result  is  a  confused  mass  of  planes  with  here  and  there 
more  conspicuous  surface  indications  such  as  the  pipe,  the 
signs,  the  glass,  etc. 

In  much  of  Picasso’s  later  work  he  suppresses  all  such 
surface  indications,  until  only  a  few  absolutely  elemental 
lines  remain. 

The  result  is  a  picture  so  scientific,  so  abstract,  it  appeals 
to  but  few  and  excites  no  emotion  in  anyone  because  it  was 
not  the  result  of  emotion  in  the  artist. 

In  short,  Picasso  and  a  few  followers  have  reached  a 
degree  of  abstraction  in  the  suppression  of  the  real  and  the 
particular  that  their  pictures  represent  about  the  same  degree 
of  emotion  as  the  demonstration  of  a  difficult  geometrical 
proposition. 

Beyond  the  few  lines  they  use  there  is  the  bare  canvas; 
they  have  reached  the  limit  and  they  must  turn  in  their 
tracks.  The  reaction  is  bound  to  come,  and  come  quickly. 


102  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


Meanwhile  the  Cubists,  who  have  been  painting  along 
emotional,  as  distinguished  from  the  coldly  scientific  lines, 
are  still  turning  out  pictures  that  possess  a  charm  in  line  and 
color  irrespective  of  their  theoretical  significance  and  much 
may  still  be  done  in  this  direction. 

❖  <$><$> 

The  Cubists  are  fond  of  quoting  the  following  from  Plato : 

Socrates:  What  I  am  saying  is  not,  indeed,  directly  obvious. 
I  must  therefore  try  to  make  it  clear.  For  I  will  endeavor  to  speak 
of  the  beauty  of  figures,  not  as  the  majority  of  persons  understand 
them  such  as  those  of  animals,  and  some  paintings  to  the  life;  but 
as  reason  says,  I  allude  to  something  straight  and  round,  and  the 
figures  formed  from  them  by  the  turner’s  lathe,  both  superficial  and 
solid  and  those  by  the  plumb-line  and  the  angle-rule,  if  you  under¬ 
stand  me.  For  these,  I  say,  are  not  beautiful  for  a  particular  pur¬ 
pose,  as  other  things  are;  but  are  by  nature  ever  beautiful  by  them¬ 
selves,  and  possess  certain  peculiar  pleasures,  not  at  all  similar  to 
those  from  scratching;  and  colors  possessing  this  character  are  beau¬ 
tiful  and  have  similar  pleasures.  —  From  “  Philebus.” 

<$><$><$> 

Every  really  great  painter  must  have  moments  when,  as 
he  thinks  of  the  days  and  years  spent  painting  things  —  just 
things  for  people  to  look  at  and  see  —  he  asks  himself,  “Is 
it  worth  while  to  spend  all  one’s  life  painting  things  one  sees? 
Is  it  not  possible  to  paint  the  things  one  feels?” 

<8>  <S>  <S> 

Sargent  is  tired  of  portrait  painting  —  why?  Because  he 
longs  to  do  something  else.  But  what  he  is  doing  is  simply 
another  form  of  portrait  painting  —  and  not  so  big.  He  has 
simply  turned  from  men  and  women  to  chairs  and  tables  —  so 
to  speak;  that  is,  from  portraits  of  people  to  pictures  of 
things  —  all  the  same  art.  So  far  as  any  one  knows  he  has 
not  tried  to  make  compositions  of  line  and  color  that  would 
be  beautiful  in  themselves.  In  short,  great  painter  as  he  is, 
he  seems  to  lack  the  ambition  or  the  inspiration  to  try  to  do 


THE  THEORY  OF  CUBISM 


103 


what  Whistler  for  more  than  forty  years  was  trying  to  do  — 
lift  painting  from  the  rut  of  reality  to  a  plane  more  nearly 
on  a  level  with  that  occupied  by  the  greatest  masters  of  China 
and  Japan. 

J  r  <S>  <$>  <«> 

The  following  paragraphs  from  a  little  book  on  Cubism 
by  two  well  known  Cubist  painters  throw  some  light  on  the 
subject : 

We  should  be  the  first  to  blame  those  who,  to  hide  their  inca¬ 
pacity,  should  attempt  to  fabricate  puzzles.  Systematic  obscurity 
betrays  itself  by  its  persistence.  Instead  of  a  veil  which  the  mind 
gradually  draws  aside  as  it  adventures  toward  progressive  wealth, 
it  is  merely  a  curtain  hiding  a  void. 

It  is  not  surprising  that  people  ignorant  of  painting  should  not 
spontaneously  share  our  assurance;  but  nothing  is  more  absurd  than 
that  they  should  be  irritated  thereby.  Must  the  painter,  to  please 
them,  turn  back  in  his  work,  restore  things  to  the  commonplace 
appearance  from  which  it  is  his  mission  to  deliver  them? 

From  the  fact  that  the  object  is  truly  transubstantiated,  so  that 
the  most  accustomed  eye  has  some  difficulty  in  discovering  it,  a  great 
charm  results.  The  picture  which  only  surrenders  itself  slowly 
seems  always  to  wait  until  we  interrogate  it,  as  though  it  reserved  an 
infinity  of  replies  to  an  infinity  of  questions.* 

By  way  of  comment  on  this  paragraph: 

Why  should  we  deny  to  painting  one  of  the  greatest 
charms  of  poetry  —  elusiveness ? 

Great  poetry  is  rarely  superficially  plain  to  the  casual 
reader. 

Great  music  is  never  superficially  plain  to  the  casual 
hearer. 

But  the  attitude  of  the  public  is  that  great  painting  shall 
always  be  superficially  plain  to  the  casual  observer. 

A  painter  may  paint  things  every  one  understands  at  a 
glance,  but  is  it  not  his  right,  if  he  wishes,  to  paint  things  no 
one  understands  but  himself? 

*  “  Cubism,”  Gleizes  and  Metzinger  (Eng.  Edition). 


104  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


In  other  words,  what  right  have  we  to  say  to  the  poet, 
“  If  you  don’t  write  things  we  understand  you  are  no  poet,” 
or  to  the  painter,  “If  you  don’t  paint  things  we  understand 
you  are  no  painter?” 

The  only  difference  between  poet  and  painter  is  that  one 
uses  a  pen,  the  other  a  brush  to  express  himself. 

<$>  <S>  <$> 

Without  employing  any  allegorical  or  symbolical  literary  artifice, 
merely  by  inflections  of  lines  and  colors,  a  painter  can  show,  in  the 
same  picture,  a  Chinese  city,  a  French  town,  together  with  moun¬ 
tains,  oceans,  fauna,  and  flora,  and  nations  with  their  histories  and 
their  desires  —  all  that  separates  them  in  external  reality.  Distance 
or  time,  concrete  fact,  or  pure  conception,  nothing  refuses  to  be 
uttered  in  the  language  of  the  painter,  as  in  that  of  the  poet,  the 
musician,  or  the  scientist. 

Here  is  a  most  significant  statement  of  a  truth  and  an 
assertion  of  freedom. 

We  all  know  how  the  poet  in  a  dozen  lines  may  give  us 
glimpses  of  the  universe;  he  may  leap  from  flower  to  star, 
from  city  to  city,  nation  to  nation,  age  to  age;  nothing  con¬ 
fines  him,  he  knows  no  restraint. 

In  one  short  poem  he  may  give  us  glimpses  of  the  four 
quarters  of  the  globe  —  of  Athens,  London,  Chicago,  Pekin. 
His  imagination  knows  no  bounds,  his  art  is  unlimited. 

For  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  painting  painters  are 
systematically  claiming  the  same  independence,  the  same 
right  to  express  themselves  freely  in  each  canvas,  to  paint  in 
the  one  picture  if  they  see  fit  glimpses  of  different  countries, 
cities,  scenes,  different  times  as  well  as  places;  to  use  them 
and  suggest  them  as  freely  as  the  poet  does  to  express  a  mood 
—  and  why  not? 

But  the  painter  must  be  sure  of  his  mood,  and  be  doubly 
sure  that  what  he  is  trying  to  say  requires  a  wealth  of  illus¬ 
tration,  otherwise  his  painting  will  be  but  a  fantastic  jumble, 


MARC 
The  Steer 


KANDINSKY 

Landscape  With  Two  Poplars 


THE  THEORY  OF  CUBISM  105 

just  as  many  poems  lose  themselves  in  not  a  wealth  but  a 
confused  mass  of  irrelevant  illustrations. 

<$>  <S>  <$> 

The  assertion  of  freedom  is  one  thing,  the  exercise  of  it  is 
quite  another. 

The  point  is  that,  fundamentally,  there  is  no  reason  why  a 
painter  should  not  show  in  one  canvas  things  and  events 
unrelated  in  either  space  or  time,  leaving  the  observer  to 
work  out  the  more  or  less  hidden  meaning  of  it  all. 

There  is  no  reason  why  he  should  be  tied  down  to  the 
realistic  painting  of  an  apple  or  an  apple  tree  if  he  prefers 
to  paint  some  flight  of  the  imagination  into  which  apple  and 
apple  tree  enter  together  with  strange  glimpses  of  temples 
and  pyramids,  playing  children  and  armed  battalions,  weep¬ 
ing  women  and  fighting  men. 

Read  the  foregoing  lines  once  more.  Eight  objects  are 
mentioned  —  apple,  apple  tree,  temples,  pyramids,  children, 
battalions,  weeping  women,  fighting  men  —  by  no  possibility 
could  these  strangely  diverse  objects  be  found  grouped 
together  in  actual  life,  yet  it  is  safe  to  say  that  as  you  read 
them  no  feeling  of  utter  incongruity  was  experienced.  On 
the  contrary  your  imagination  unconsciously  created  a  pic¬ 
ture,  vague  and  indistinct  because  fleeting,  which  combined 
them  all,  possibly  a  strange,  poetic  scene  with  orchards  and 
playing  children,  temples  and  pyramids  in  the  distance,  with 
armed  battalions,  weeping  women  and  fighting  men  passing 
by  in  clouds  or  fanciful  shapes. 

Thousands  of  such  pictures  are  painted  every  year  and 
they  are  mostly  rather  poor  works  of  the  imagination. 

There  is,  however,  no  reason  why  the  same  freedom,  the 
same  arbitrary  indifference  to  actualities,  should  not  be  exer¬ 
cised  in  the  painting  of  good  pictures. 

No  reason  why,  for  instance,  painters  should  not  ex  peri- 


106  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


ment  freely  with  all  the  so-called  laws  of  art,  and  that  is  what 
the  Cubists  and  others  of  the  moderns  are  doing. 

❖  <$>  <S> 

That  the  ultimate  aim  of  painting  is  to  touch  the  crowd  we 
have  admitted;  but  painting  must  not  address  the  crowd  in  the  lan¬ 
guage  of  the  crowd;  it  must  employ  its  own  language,  in  order  to 
move,  dominate,  and  direct  the  crowd,  not  in  order  to  be  understood. 
It  is  so  with  religions  and  philosophies.  The  artist  who  concedes 
nothing,  who  does  not  explain  himself  and  relates  nothing,  accumu¬ 
lates  an  internal  strength  whose  radiance  shines  on  every  hand. 

It  is  in  consummating  ourselves  within  ourselves  that  we  shall 
purify  humanity;  it  is  by  increasing  our  own  riches  that  we  shall 
enrich  others;  it  is  by  kindling  the  heart  of  the  star  for  our  own 
pleasure  that  we  shall  exalt  the  universe. 

<S>  <$> 

To  explain  Cubism,  or  any  attempt  in  art  to  suppress  the 
objective,  one  must  fall  back  on  music. 

Grieg  calls  a  certain  composition  “  In  the  Hall  of  the 
Mountain  King.”  Not  for  a  moment  did  he  attempt  real¬ 
istically  to  suggest  a  hall,  a  mountain,  a  king  or  any  object; 
to  have  done  so  would  have  been  folly.  And  if  that  par¬ 
ticular  composition  were  played  for  the  first  time  before  a 
body  of  keen  musicians,  no  title  mentioned,  and  not  a  word 
said  about  its  being  a  part  of  the  Peer  Gynt  suite,  no  two 
would  agree  as  to  what  the  composer  had  in  mind,  though 
many  might  have  very  interesting  impressions  regarding  the 
mood  of  the  composer  in  writing  it. 

But  once  understand  it  is  part  of  the  Peer  Gynt  suite  and 
once  told  it  is  “  In  the  Hall  of  the  Mountain  King,”  the  weird 
and  fascinating  music  explains  itself,  it  is  recognized  as  a 
wonderfully  successful  attempt  to  realize  an  impressive 
scene  by  a  combination  of  sounds. 

<$>  <8>  <$> 

The  veriest  tyro  in  music  feels  the  cheapness  of  imitative 
music,  the  imitation  of  the  nightingale,  the  ripple  of  notes 


THE  THEORY  OF  CUBISM 


107 


to  imitate  a  rippling  brook,  the  beating  of  a  drum  to  imitate 
thunder,  the  tremolo  of  violins  to  represent  fright,  etc.,  etc. 

From  such  bald  attempts  at  realism  to  the  abstract 
beauty  of  a  symphony  by  Beethoven  is  a  vast  interval. 

The  severely  logical  composer  will  not  name  his  sym¬ 
phony  for  fear  of  suggesting  ideas  that  will  interfere  with 
the  pure  enjoyment  of  his  abstract  conception.  There  have 
been  painters  —  like  Whistler  —  who  preferred  to  call  their 
works  “  Harmonies  ”  or  “  Arrangements  ”  or  “  Studies  ” 
rather  than  subject  their  canvases  to  a  clamoring  horde  of 
suggestions  by  choosing  names  that  must  inevitably  divert 
the  observer. 

However  at  times  a  name  helps,  it  at  least  puts  us  on  the 
right  track,  it  enables  us  to  measure  the  piece  of  music  or 
the  picture  by  the  artist’s  intention.  If  it  is  utterly  impossible 
for  the  best  and  most  sympathetic  minds  after  long  study  to 
find  any  suggestion  of  the  title  in  the  work,  it  means  either 
the  artist  has  been  unsuccessful  in  conveying  his  idea  in 
sound  or  in  line  and  color,  or  —  what  often  happens  —  he  has 
carelessly  and  arbitrarily  chosen  a  title  after  his  work  was 
finished,  a  title  that  imperfectly  fits  his  original  impulse. 

$><$><$> 

It  is  most  disappointing  to  hear  a  man  go  into  raptures 
over  what  he  cannot  explain. 

The  greatest  enemies  of  the  moderns  are  their  friends. 
But  there  have  been  published  a  number  of  books  in  German 
and  French  that  are  well  worth  reading  if  approached  with 
an  open  mind. 

If  read  with  preconceived  notions  and  prejudices  the 
result  will  be  very  irritating.  Several  artists,  notably  Kan¬ 
dinsky,  have  taken  the  utmost  pains  to  explain  in  print  what 
they  believe  and  what  they  are  trying  to  do. 

But  it  is  often  quite  as  difficult  to  understand  some  of 


108  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


the  things  the  painters  write  about  their  work  as  it  is  to 
understand  their  pictures ;  but  this  is  because  some  of  the  new 
men  carry  their  theories  so  far  it  is  hard  for  the  layman  to 
follow,  however  earnest  and  sympathetic  his  efforts. 

But  because  we  do  not  understand  what  a  man  says  is 
no  good  reason  for  calling  him  an  ignoramus. 

The  trouble  may  be  with  him,  it  is  probably  with  us.  At 
all  events  each  re-reading,  like  each  re-scrutiny  of  the  pic¬ 
tures,  yields  clearer  results. 

To  a  man  really  and  profoundly  interested  in  art  nothing 
has  occurred  in  many  a  generation  so  full  of  significance,  so 
worthy  one’s  earnest  attention,  as  the  present  new  move¬ 
ments —  all  the  more  interesting  because  changing  so  rapidly 
and  because  some  of  them  are  certain  to  be  so  fleeting. 

The  art  institute  which  does  not  secure  and  preserve  some 
examples  illustrative  of  the  extraordinary  upheaval  in  the 
art  world  is  derelict  —  as  derelict  as  a  natural  history 
museum  would  be  if  it  passed  over  indifferently  the  evidence 
of  some  mysterious  upheaval  in  nature. 

<S>  <$>  <$> 

When  a  man  stands  before  a  cubist  painting  or  an  impro¬ 
visation  by  Kandinsky  and  says  he  sees  all  sorts  of  things 
in  it,  do  not  take  him  too  seriously;  he  is  like  members  of 
those  extraordinary  Browning  Clubs  who  destroy  our  enjoy¬ 
ment  of  the  poetry  by  reading  into  each  line  things  the  poet 
never  dreamed. 

❖  <$><$> 

The  Cubists  and  most  of  the  moderns  are  very  young 
men,  what  they  think  is  of  far  less  interest  than  what  they  do. 

What  a  young  man  does  is  often  of  vital  importance,  what 
he  thinks  may  be  of  no  importance  at  all  —  save  to  himself. 

Moved  by  the  most  naive  theories  and  enthusiasms  youth 


CHABAUD 
Cemetery  Gates 


THE  THEORY  OF  CUBISM 


109 


will  do  wonderful  things,  things  the  sober  reflection  of  age 
would  fear  to  do. 

One  of  the  charms  of  the  Cubists  is  their  child-like  faith 
in  the  absolute  supremacy  of  their  art ;  this  faith  is  interesting 
in  them  because  it  leads  them  to  produce  works  that  cause 
us  to  stop  and  look  and  think,  but  when  their  followers 
indulge  the  same  blind  faith  in  print  their  utterances  are 
mostly  incoherent  and  boresome. 

<$><$>❖ 

The  violent  partisan  who  sees  all  sorts  of  things  in  the 
modern  painting  is  at  one  extreme,  the  violent  opponent  who 
sees  nothing  at  all  is  at  the  other  —  let  them  fight  it  out. 

The  truth  lies  midway,  that  there  is  something  worth  find¬ 
ing  in  even  the  most  extravagant  attempts  of  the  new  move¬ 
ment  no  thoughtful  man  will  deny.  The  very  fact  the 
paintings  attract  such  crowds  and  excite  so  much  contro¬ 
versy  proves  there  is  something  for  serious  investigation;  the 
something  may  not  turn  out  to  be  of  overwhelming  import¬ 
ance,  but  it  will  have  its  influence  upon  the  future  of  art. 

No  one  for  a  moment  doubts  that  the  exhibitions  held  in 
New  York,  Chicago,  and  Boston  are  destined  to  have  a  very 
great  effect  upon  American  art,  especially  upon  the  art  of 
the  men  most  bitterly  opposed  to  Cubism,  and  everything 
akin  to  Cubism.  The  academic  has  received  a  severe  but 
healthful  jolt. 

Whatever  affects  us  has,  at  least,  the  merit  of  affecting 
us,  and  whatever  moves  us  to  do  better  work,  whether  in  an 
old  way  or  a  new  way,  has  the  merit  of  affecting  us  for  good. 


VII 


THE  NEW  ART  IN  MUNICH 

tffTTTE  cling  more  closely  to  the  old  masters;  what  we 

■  V  are  doing  is  simply  the  natural  development  of  their 
principles  and  their  methods,”  said  a  well-known  painter  of 
Munich  while  speaking  of  the  Cubists  and  other  moderns  of 
Paris,  and  the  words  had  direct  reference  to  the  head  of  a 
woman,  by  Jawlenski,  reproduced  herein  in  color. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  convince  the  casual  observer  that 
this  head  has  any  relationship  to  portraits  by  Titian,  and  yet — 

<$>  <$>  <3> 

The  Cubists  are  also  equally  quick  to  demonstrate  the 
logical  connection  between  their  works  and  those  of  the  old 
masters,  tracing  the  connection  through  Courbet,  El  Greco, 
and  so  on. 

The  truth,  of  course,  is  that  everything  modern  is  a  devel¬ 
opment  of  something  ancient,  that  nothing  exists  unrelated. 

Art  is  as  continuous  as  everything  else  in  life  and  nature. 

One  thing  flows  inevitably  out  of  another. 

<$>  <S>  <$> 

Sorolla  and  Zoloaga  are  the  children  of  Velasquez.  Puvis 
de  Chavannes  may  seem  nearer  Raphael  and  the  Italian 
Primitives  than  Degas  and  Manet,  but  he  is  simply  the  frui¬ 
tion  of  one  collateral  line,  while  Degas  is  the  fruition  of 
another,  and  Manet  of  another  —  they  are  all  painters,  and  the 
art  of  painting  admits  endless  variations  in  theory  and 
technic.  <j>  <j>  <$> 

It  is,  therefore,  true  that  every  modern  experiment,  how- 

110 


THE  NEW  ART  IN  MUNICH 


111 


ever  strange,  may  trace  its  genealogy  to  the  Old  Masters  and 
through  them  to  the  Primitives,  and  through  them  to  the 
Cave  Painters. 

So  that  when  a  Munich  artist  argues  that  the  strange 
heads  of  Jawlensky  and  the  still  stranger  compositions  of 
Kandinsky  are  based  upon  the  best  there  is  in  Italian  art, 
the  proposition  in  its  broad  significance  may  be  conceded 
and  plenty  of  room  be  still  left  for  startling  differences 
between  the  art  of  Venice  in  the  sixteenth  century  and  that 
of  Munich  in  the  twentieth. 


<$><$><$> 

There  is,  however,  some  slight  but  tangible  foundation 
for  the  assertion  that  the  work  of  the  extreme  men  of  Munich 
is  closer  to  that  of  the  Old  Masters  than  the  work  of  the 
extreme  men  of  Paris,  in  that  most  of  the  former  paint  more 
solidly  and  substantially,  while  most  of  the  latter  paint  more 
lightly  and  superficially  —  just  about  the  difference  that 
exists  between  the  two  cities,  the  two  environments.  The 
worker  in  Munich  cannot  help  being  influenced  by  the 
German  atmosphere,  the  worker  in  Paris  cannot  help  being 
influenced  by  the  French  —  in  fact  each  is  where  he  is  because 
he  finds  the  particular  atmosphere  congenial. 

<$><$><*> 

“  The  New  Artists’  Federation,”  in  Munich,  was  founded 
in  January,  1909,  by  Adolf  Erbsloh,  Alexej  von  Jawlensky, 
Wassily  Kandinsky,  Alexander  Kanoldt,  Alfred  Kubin, 
Gabriele  Miinter,  Marianna  von  Werefkin,  Heinrich  Schnabel, 
and  Oskar  Wittenstein.  During  the  first  year  Paul  Baum, 
Wladimir  von  Bechtejeff,  Erma  Bossi,  Karl  Hofer,  Moissey 
Koga,  and  Albert  Sacharoff  joined.  Paul  Baum  and  Karl 
Hofer  soon  resigned  their  membership.  In  1910  the  French¬ 
men,  Pierre  Girieud  and  Le  Fauconnier,  became  members. 


112  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


and  in  1911  Franz  Marc  and  Otto  Fischer,  followed  in  1912 
by  Alexander  Mogilewsky. 

The  first  exhibition  was  held  in  the  winter  of  1909  in  the  Modern 
Gallery,  Munich.  Indignation  and  derisive  laughter,  and  insults  from 
the  press  were  the  outward  result.  Still  the  seed  scattered  was  not 
lost.  Similar  exhibitions  were  held  in  many  cities  of  Germany  and 
Switzerland.  Everywhere  they  met  with  opposition,  but  also  made 
some  friends  at  each  place.  > 

The  second  exhibition,  held  in  the  fall  of  the  following  year, 
brought  the  members  into  contact  with  a  large  number  of  outside 
artists,  some  of  whom  have  become  of  great  importance  in  the  new 
art,  and  most  of  whom  were,  up  to  that  time,  unknown  in  Germany. 
These  were  the  Germans,  Hermann  Haller,  Bernhard  Hoetger,  Eugen 
Kahler,  Adolf  Nieder;  the  Frenchmen,  Georges  Bracque,  Andre  De¬ 
rain,  Kees  Van  Dongen,  Francisco  Durio,  Pablo  Picasso,  Georges 
Rouault,  and  Maurice  de  Vlaminck;  finally,  the  Russians,  Mogilewsky, 
David  and  Wladimir  Burljuk,  and  Seraphim  Sudbinin.  This  was  the 
first  exhibition  at  which  it  was  possible  to  rightly  estimate  the  devel¬ 
opment  and  the  international  character  of  the  new  movement. 

The  preparations  for  the  exhibition  in  the  year  1911  led  to  a 
split.  Some  of  the  members  insisted  that,  as  regarded  their  works, 
the  custom  of  a  jury  should  be  dispensed  with,  while  others  were  in 
favor  of  having  the  entries  rigidly  judged  in  order  to  insure  proper 
selection.  Kandinsky,  Kubin,  Marc,  and  Gabriele  Miinter  in  conse¬ 
quence  announced  their  withdrawal  from  the  federation.  Thus  a  dif¬ 
ference  of  opinion  and  convictions  was  openly  vented  that  had 
existed  in  secret  for  quite  a  time.  The  members  named,  under  the 
name  of  “  Redaktion  des  Blauen  Reiters,”  opened  a  separate  exhibi¬ 
tion  and  have  since  continued  to  work  under  this  banner. 

The  New  Artists’  Federation,  since  its  third  exhibition  in  1912, 
has  held  a  series  of  exhibits  of  the  works  of  individual  artists  in  its 
rooms  at  Munich,  and  its  members  are  represented  at  nearly  all  im¬ 
portant  exhibitions  in  Germany  and  Switzerland.* 

<$>  <s>  <e> 

The  key-note  of  the  modern  movement  in  art  is  expres¬ 
sion  of  self;  that  is,  the  expression  of  one’s  inner  self  as  dis¬ 
tinguished  from  the  representation  of  the  outer  world. 

<$>  <e>  <$> 


*  “  Das  Neue  Bild,”  by  Otto  Fischer,  pp.  22,  23. 


MATISSE 

Woman  in  Red  Madras 


THE  NEW  ART  IN  MUNICH 


113 


I  have  before  me  six  of  Jawlensky’s  heads,  painted  a 
year  or  so  apart.  They  range  from  almost  conventional 
portrait  studies  in  strong  impressionistic  manner  to  heads 
very  like  Matisse’s  “  Madras  Rouge,”  thence  to  the  head 
reproduced,  which  was  the  last  painted. 

The  series  shows  an  interesting  development  of  the 
painter’s  convictions,  his  technic  remains  essentially  the  same, 
facile  and  competent,  only  the  latest  picture  places  a  much 
greater  stress  upon  his  resources. 

It  was  apparent  from  things  in  his  studio,  canvases  ten 
or  twelve  years  old,  that  he  could  have  made  a  commercial 
success  as  a  painter  of  portraits. 

<$><$><$> 

To  say  that  Jawlensky’s  latest  heads  with  their  strange, 
expressive,  exaggerated  eyes  are  not  wholly  new  one  has 
only  to  turn  to  any  work  on  Greek  painting  wherein  are 
reproduced  some  of  the  encaustic  and  tempera  portraits 
found  in  the  Fayum  some  twenty-odd  years  ago. 

<$>❖<$> 

When  asked  why  he  preferred  his  latest  work  to  the 
earlier,  Jawlensky  said: 

“  I  have  put  more  of  myself  into  them ;  they  are  more 
expressive  of  what  I  feel.” 

And  he  went  on  to  say  the  development  seemed  to  him 
natural  and  logical.  He  could  not  understand  why  the  heads 
should  strike  others  as  queer  or  laughable  since  they  were 
the  products  of  absolute  sincerity. 

Of  his  work  a  friendly  critic  says: 

Jawlensky,  formerly  an  officer  in  the  Russian  army,  resigned  a 
captain’s  commission  and  turned  to  painting.  Today  he  looks  back 
into  an  artistic  past  rich  in  changes  and  just  as  rich  in  successes 
achieved.  Gauguin,  VanGogh  and  Cezanne  have  given  much  to  him; 
more  recently,  oriental  and  primitive  art,  Byzantine  pictures  and 
antique  German  woodcarvings  have  not  been  without  influence  on 


116  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


There  was  one  of  his  Improvisations  in  the  International 
Exhibition.* 

It  did  not  hang  with  the  Cubists,  not  even  in  the  large 
room  with  Matisse  and  other  radical  men.  Evidently  those 
in  charge  of  the  hanging  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  it 
or  what  to  do  with  it,  so  they  side-tracked  it  on  a  wall  that 
was  partly  in  shadow.  Visitors  who  paused  to  look  at  it 
dismissed  it  as  meaningless  splotches  of  paint,  and  passed  on. 

There  is  this  to  be  said  for  the  public,  that  with  no  word 
of  explanation  one  of  Kandinsky’s  Improvisations  does 
seem  —  at  first  glance  —  the  last  word  in  extravagance;  on 
fourth  or  fifth  glance  it  appears  to  have  a  charm  of  color 
that  is  fascinating;  on  study  it  begins  to  sound  like  color 
music. 

<$>  <$>  <S> 

There  were  three  of  his  canvases  in  the  London  Exhibi¬ 
tion  in  Albert  Hall  in  July,  1913,  “Landscape  with  Two 
Poplars,”  “Improvisation  No.  29,”  and  “Improvisation  No. 
30,”  the  last  reproduced  herein  in  color. 

Of  these  three  paintings  a  critic  said :  f 

By  far  the  best  pictures  there  seemed  to  me  to  be  the  three  works 
by  Kandinsky.  They  are  of  peculiar  interest,  because  one  is  a 
landscape  in  which  the  disposition  of  the  forms  is  clearly  prompted 
by  a  thing  seen,  while  the  other  two  are  improvisations.  In  these  the 
forms  and  colors  have  no  possible  justification,  except  the  rightness 
of  their  relations.  This,  of  course,  is  really  true  of  all  art,  but  where 
representation  of  natural  form  comes  in,  the  senses  are  apt  to  be 
tricked  into  acquiescence  by  the  intelligence.  In  these  improvisa¬ 
tions,  therefore,  the  form  has  to  stand  the  test  without  any  adventi¬ 
tious  aids.  It  seemed  to  me  that  they  did  this,  and  established  their 
right  to  be  what  they  were.  In  fact,  these  seemed  to  me  the  most 
complete  pictures  in  the  exhibition,  to  be  those  which  had  the  most 
definite  and  coherent  expressive  power.  Undoubtedly  representation, 
besides  the  evocative  power  which  it  has  through  association  of  ideas, 

*  It  was  purchased  by  Mr.  Alfred  Stieglitz. 

f  Roger  Fry  in  “  The  Nation,”  August  2,  1913. 


KANDINSKY 
Improvisation  No.  29 


THE  NEW  ART  IN  MUNICH 


117 


has  also  a  value  in  assisting  us  to  coordinate  forms,  and,  until  Picasso 
and  Kandinsky  tried  to  do  without  it,  this  function  at  least  was  always 
regarded  as  a  necessity.  That  is  why  of  the  three  pictures  by  Kan¬ 
dinsky,  the  landscape  strikes  one  most  at  first.  Even  if  one  does 
not  recognize  it  as  a  landscape,  it  is  easier  to  find  one’s  way  about 
in  it,  because  the  forms  have  the  same  sort  of  relations  as  the  forms 
of  nature,  whereas  in  the  two  others  there  is  no  reminiscence  of  the 
general  structure  of  the  visible  world.  The  landscape  is  easier,  but 
that  is  all.  As  one  contemplates  the  three,  one  finds  that  after  a  time 
the  improvisations  become  more  definite,  more  logical  and  more 
closely  knit  in  structure,  more  surprisingly  beautiful  in  their  color 
oppositions,  more  exact  in  their  equilibrium.  They  are  pure  visual 
music. 

People  who  do  not  find  a  picture  turn  away  disappointed 
and  irritated,  but  many  turn  back  to  look  again,  attracted  by 
the  strength  and  charm  of  the  compositions,  and  in  the  end 
not  a  few  reluctantly  concede,  “Yes,  they  have  fine  color, 
but  —  ”  and  then  follows  the  old  demand  for  some  familiar 
object  as  anchorage. 

<$>  <S>  <$> 

Of  Kandinsky’s  qualifications  from  the  academic  point  of 
view  let  it  be  said  he  is  a  superb  draftsman,  though  he  no 
longer  attaches  any  importance  to  drawing  per  se;  and  he  is 
a  master  of  color  combinations. 

One  would  say  that  the  two,  mastery  of  drawing  and 
mastery  of  color,  would  make  a  great  painter,  and  so  they 
did  and  do. 

I  have  at  hand  some  of  his  earlier  work  along  conven¬ 
tional  lines,  and  I  have  seen  tempera  drawings  of  Moroccan 
scenes  that  would  delight  a  Whistler,  they  are  so  delicate 
and  so  filled  with  subtle  charm.  Then  I  have  a  series  of 
sketches,  extending  over  a  number  of  years,  which  show  the 
development  of  his  later  works. 

<$>  <$> 

He  has  explained  his  theories  at  length  in  his  book, 


118  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


“Ueber  das  Geistege  in  der  Kunst,”*  and  in  numerous  arti¬ 
cles,  notably  in  “  Der  Blaue  Reiter.” 

The  keynote  of  the  entire  modern  movement  is  found  in 
the  first  sentence  of  his  book, 

“  Every  work  of  art  is  the  child  of  its  own  times.” 

A  man  may  so  steep  himself  in  history  and  tradition  that 
all  he  does  is  reminiscent  of  the  past,  but  such  work  marks 
no  progress  and  such  men  are  negligible  factors  in  the 
advancement  of  mankind. 

It  is  the  man  who  yields  himself  to  his  times,  who  absorbs 
all  there  is  of  good  in  the  life  about  him,  who  sees  everything, 
feels  everything,  who  mingles  with  his  respect  for  the 
achievements  of  the  past  a  mighty  admiration  for  the 
triumphs  of  the  present  —  such  a  man  is  a  leader  among  his 
fellows;  brilliant  thinker,  daring  adventurer,  he  blazes  the 
way  for  the  timid  to  follow. 

If  we  were  Greeks  of  the  fifth  century  we  would  carve 
the  marbles  they  did.  If  we  were  Romans  under  the  Caesars 
we  would  build  the  buildings  they  built.  If  we  were  Christ¬ 
ians  of  the  middle  ages  we  would  rear  cathedrals.  If  we 
were  English,  French,  German,  Chinese,  or  Japanese,  we 
would  do  the  things  they  do,  like  the  things  they  like.  But 
we  are  none  of  these  peoples;  we  are  Americans  living  in  an 
age  of  steam  and  electricity,  of  automobiles  and  aeroplanes, 
in  an  age  of  kaleidoscopic  changes,  of  marvelous  and  startling 
developments. 

What  must  happen  in  painting,  music,  sculpture? 

Exactly  what  has  happened  in  architecture. 

Painting,  music,  sculpture  that  will  go  with  our  mighty 
steel  buildings,  with  our  factories  and  railroads. 

Painting,  music,  sculpture  varied  in  form,  as  old  and  as 
new  as  the  brain  of  man  can  conceive,  but  always  and  essen- 

*  Second  edition,  Munich,  R.  Piper  &  Co.,  1912. 


THE  NEW  ART  IN  MUNICH 


119 


tially  our  own .  That  is  the  secret,  it  must  be  characteristic 
of  our  age  —  our  own. 

❖  <$><$> 

This  is  not  a  placid  age. 

It  is  an  age  of  feverish  activities,  brilliant  imaginings, 
profound  emotions. 

Hence  our  art  will  not  be  placid,  but  will  be  an  art  of  the 
imagination  and  the  emotions. 

Venturesome  souls  will  not  be  content  to  paint  things, 
or  even  people,  but  they  will  paint  themselves,  not  their  outer 
selves,  but  their  inner ;  they  will  put  on  canvas  what  they 
feel.  That  is  as  near  the  final  word  in  art  as  man  can  utter  — 
to  paint  instead  of  speak  his  most  subtle  emotions. 

<$><$><$> 

In  a  recent  article*  Kandinsky  summarises  part  of  his 
theory  as  follows: 

A  work  of  art  consists  of  two  elements,  the  inner  and  the 
outer. 

The  inner  is  the  emotion  in  the  soul  of  the  artist.  This 
emotion  has  the  power  to  arouse  a  similar  feeling  in  the  soul 
of  the  observer. 

The  soul  being  connected  with  the  body  it  is  affected 
through  the  medium  of  the  senses  —  feelings;  emotions  are 
stirred  and  aroused  by  sensations.  Hence  our  sensations  are 
the  bridge,  the  physical  connection  between  the  immaterial, 
the  emotion  in  the  soul  of  the  artist,  to  the  material,  resulting 
in  the  production  of  the  work  of  art. 

And  again  the  sensations  are  the  bridge  from  the  material, 
the  artist,  and  his  work,  to  the  immaterial,  emotion  in  the  soul 
of  the  observer. 

The  sequence  is,  emotion  (in  artist) — sensations— -work 
—  sensations  —  emotion  (in  observer). 


*  “  Der  Sturm,”  Berlin. 


120  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


The  two  emotions  will  be  like  and  equal  to  the  extent  the 
work  is  successful.  In  this  respect  a  painting  is  no  different 
from  a  song,  each  is  a  message;  the  successful  singer  suc¬ 
ceeds  in  arousing  in  his  hearers  the  emotions  he  feels;  the 
successful  painter  should  do  no  less. 

The  inner  element,  emotion,  must  exist,  else  the  work 
will  be  a  sham.  The  inner  element  determines  the  character 
of  the  work. 

In  order  that  the  inner  element  which  at  first  exists  only 
as  an  emotion,  may  develop  into  work,  the  second  element  — 
the  outer  is  used  as  the  embodiment.  Therefore  emotion  is 
always  seeking  means  of  expression,  seeking  a  material  form, 
a  form  that  can  stir  the  senses.  * 

The  vital,  the  determining  element  is  the  inner,  that  con¬ 
trols  the  outer  form,  even  as  the  idea  in  the  mind  determines 
the  words  we  use,  and  not  the  words  the  idea. 

Therefore  the  selection  of  the  form  of  a  work  of  art  is 
determined  by  the  inner  irresistible  force  —  this  is  the  only 
unchangeable  law  of  art. 

A  beautiful  work  is  the  product  of  the  harmonious 
cooperation  of  the  two  elements,  the  inner  and  outer.  A 
painting,  for  instance,  is  an  intellectual  organism  which,  like 
every  material  organism,  consists  of  many  parts. 

These  single  parts,  if  isolated,  are  as  lifeless  as  a  finger 
severed  from  the  hand. 

The  single  parts  live  only  through  the  whole. 

The  endless  number  of  single  parts  in  a  painting  is 
divided  into  two  groups: 

1.  The  designed  form. 

2.  The  picturesque  form. 

<$><$><$> 

An  examination  of  a  work  of  art,  especially  a  painting, 

*  See  pages  87-88  for  quotation  from  “Delight;  the  Soul  of  Art.” 


VAN  GOGH 

Woman  with  Frying  Pan 


VAN  GOGH 
Chair  with  Pipe 


THE  NEW  ART  IN  MUNICH 


121 


usually  discovers  the  presence  of  parts  and  forms  drawn  from 
nature ,  from  objects. 

As  the  imitation  of  natural  forms  forms  no  part  of  the 
definition  of  pure  art  how  is  it  these  objective  representations 
creep  in? 

The  origin  of  painting  was  the  same  as  that  of  the  other 
arts,  and  of  every  human  action.  It  was  purely  practical. 

If  a  native  hunter  chases  game  for  days,  he  is  induced  to 
do  so  by  hunger. 

If  today  a  princely  hunter  chases  game,  he  is  induced  to 
do  so  by  the  desire  for  enjoyment.  Just  as  hunger  is  of  bodily 
value,  here  the  enjoyment  is  of  aesthetic  value. 

If  a  savage  requires  artificial  sounds  for  his  dance,  he  is 
induced  thereto  by  sexual  impulse.  The  artificial  sounds, 
from  which  through  centuries  the  music  of  today  developed, 
moved  savages  to  an  expression  of  passion  in  the  form  of 
dancing. 

If  the  man  of  today  attends  a  concert  he  is  not  seeking 
the  music  for  practical  results,  but  pleasure. 

Also  here  the  original  practical  motive  changed  to  the 
aesthetic.  That  means  that  also  here  the  practical  want  of 
the  body  changed  to  that  of  the  soul. 

During  this  progress  toward  refinement  (or  spirituality) 
of  the  most  simple  practical  (or  bodily)  wants,  two  conse¬ 
quences  are  to  be  noticed  throughout:  The  separation  of  the 
spiritual  from  the  bodily  element  and  its  further  independent 
development  through  the  different  arts. 

Here  the  above  mentioned  laws  (of  the  inner  element 
and  the  form)  gradually  apply  with  ever  increasing  force, 
until  finally  out  of  each  art  comes  a  pure  art. 

This  is  a  steady,  logical,  natural  growth,  like  the  growth 
of  a  tree. 

The  process  is  to  be  noticed  in  painting. 


122  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


First  period,  Origin:  Practical  desire  to  make  use  of 

physical. 

Second  Period,  Development:  The  gradual  separation  of 
this  practical  purpose,  and  the  gradual  ascendancy  of  the 
spiritual  element. 

Third  Period,  Aim:  The  attainment  of  a  higher  stage  in 
pure  art;  in  this  the  remains  of  the  practical  desire  are 
totally  separated  (abstracted).  Pure  art  speaks  from  soul  to 
soul,  it  is  not  dependent  upon  the  use  of  objective  and  imi¬ 
tative  forms. 

We  can  distinguish  all  of  these  three  stages  in  various 
combinations  in  paintings  of  today. 

First  Period:  Realistic  Painting.  The  realism  here  is 
understood  to  be  such  as  developed  traditionally  into  the 
nineteenth  century  —  the  practical  desire  to  exhibit  objective 
realities  —  portraits,  landscapes,  historical  paintings,  etc.,  in 
the  direct  sense. 

Second  Period:  Naturalistic  Paintings  in  the  form  of  Im¬ 
pressionism,  of  the  New  Impressionism  and  Expressionism 
—  to  which  partly  Cubism  and  Futurism  belongs:  The 
separation  of  the  practical  aim  and  the  general  preponderance 
of  the  spiritual  element;  from  Impressionism  through  Neo- 
Impressionism  to  Expressionism  always  increasing  separa¬ 
tion  and  always  increasing  preponderance  of  the  spiritual. 

Apparently  in  this  finer  development  nature  as  such  is  no 
more  taken  into  consideration;  but  this  is  only  “apparently” 
so,  for  as  a  matter  of  fact  nature  is  used  as  a  motive,  a  back¬ 
ground,  a  basis  for  the  pictures,  and  if  the  attempt  is  made 
to  separate  the  natural  or  objective  part  of  the  picture  from 
the  purely  artistic,  the  result  is  the  picture  falls  for  lack  of 
support. 

3>  <$>  <§> 

In  other  words,  in  most  of  even  the  very  abstract  paint- 


THE  NEW  ART  IN  MUNICH 


123 


ings,  such  as  even  Picasso’s,  there  is  a  foundation,  a  back¬ 
ground  of  objects  without  which  the  pictures  would  not 
exist. 

Picasso  may  refine  a  “Woman  with  a  Mandolin,”  to  a 
dozen  intersecting  lines  that  disclose  neither  woman  nor 
mandolin,  but  both  were  present  in  his  mind’s  eye  when  he 
created  his  work,  and  without  them  the  work  has  no  reason 
for  existing. 

It  is  here  that  one  begins  to  understand  Kandinsky’s 
attitude,  and  how  diametrically  he  diverges  from  Picasso. 
The  two  have  nothing  in  common  save  the  desire  to  pro¬ 
duce  more  abstract  art,  but  Picasso  abstractions  are  based 
on  the  outer  world,  while  Kandinsky’s  are  based  on  the 
inner. 

When  Picasso  has  refined  nature,  that  is,  things  outside 
him,  to  the  last  degree,  to  the  simplest  mode  of  expression  in 
line  and  mass,  he  has  reached  an  impasse,  further  progress 
is  impossible,  further  scientific  subdivision  in  unattainable, 
his  art  in  that  direction  is  finished. 

But  Kandinsky  has  before  him  an  unlimited  view.  With 
him  the  elimination  of  nature,  of  all  things  physical  from  his 
compositions,  simply  gives  him  greater  freedom  in  the  paint¬ 
ing  of  compositions  representing  things  —  moods  —  spiritual. 

<$><$><§> 

To  go  on  with  his  own  explanation,  not  in  his  exact  words, 
but  in  substance: 

It  is  thus  seen  that  in  both  the  first  and  second  signs  in 
the  development  of  art,  the  objective  foundation  or  back¬ 
ground  is  not  of  simply  secondary  importance,  but  of  first ; 
it  is  essential  because  without  it  the  work  would  not  exist. 

To  create  pure  art  it  is  necessary  to  eliminate  this  back¬ 
ground  of  the  physical,  and  substitute  for  it  pure  artistic 
form,  which  alone  can  give  the  picture  independent  life. 


124  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


This  step  we  find  in  the  daivning  third  period  of  painting 

—  Compositional  painting. 

According  to  the  scheme  of  the  three  periods,  we  have 
arrived  at  the  third  one  —  which  was  designated  as  the  Aim. 

In  the  compositional  painting  which  is  developing  today  we 
see  the  signs  of  the  attainment  of  the  higher  step  of  pure  art, 
in  which  the  remains  of  the  practical  desire  (all  evidences  of 
objectivity)  can  be  perfectly  separated,  which  can  speak 
from  soul  to  soul  in  purely  artistic  language. 

The  conscious  and  oftentimes  also  still  unconscious  striv¬ 
ing,  which  strongly  (and  ever  stronger)  shows  itself  today, 
to  replace  the  objective  (subject  paintings)  by  pure  con¬ 
struction  (pure  composition)  is  the  first  sign  of  the  dawn¬ 
ing  of  that  pure  art  to  which  the  past  art  periods  inevitably 
led. 

I  have  been  trying  to  briefly  deal  with  the  entire  development 
and  more  especially  the  situation  today  in  broad  schematic  outlines; 
therefore  there  are  many  deficiencies  (gaps)  which  necessarily  re¬ 
main  uncovered,  and  there  are  passed  over  many  interesting  lesser 
developments,  which  are  inevitable  in  progress,  like  smaller  branches 
on  the  tree,  which  extend  outward  notwithstanding  the  tree’s  growth 
upward. 

The  further  development,  which  is  pending  in  painting,  will  still 
have  to  suffer  many  seeming  contradictions  and  diversions,  as  was 
the  case  with  music,  which  today  we  know  already  as  pure  art. 

The  past  teaches  us  that  the  development  of  humanity  consists 
in  the  increasing  spirituality  of  various  factors.  Among  these  factors 
art  takes  the  first  place. 

Among  the  arts  painting  is  following  the  road  that  leads  it  from 
the  practical-efficiency  to  the  intellectual-efficiency.  From  the  subject- 

picture  to  the  pure  composition. 

To  better  understand  the  foregoing  take  the  “Improvisa¬ 
tion  No.  30.”  * 

It  is  a  very  pure  example  of  compositional  painting,  but  it 

*  It  should  be  stated  that  the  brilliant  colors  of  the  original  are 
very  inadequately  shown  in  the  reproduction  for  the  reason  the  paint¬ 
ing  is  so  large  it  does  not  reproduce  well  so  small. 


THE  NEW  ART  IN  MUNICH 


125 


is  not  absolutely  pure ,  in  that  it  contains  many  more  or  less 
obvious  suggestions  of  familiar  forms  and  objects. 

Some  workmen  who  happened  to  be  handling  the  paint- 
ting,  referred  to  it  as  the  “War  Picture,”  and  many  casual 
observers  insist  it  is  an  impression  of  war  or  of  a  battle  field. 

This  is  because  two  cannon  are  quite  plain  in  the  lower 
right-hand  corner,  and  the  two  oblong  blue  masses  projecting 
from  the  cannons’  mouths  would  seem  to  be  the  smoke  of 
the  discharges. 

Then,  too,  the  seeming  cataclysmic  effect,  the  suggestion 
of  a  helmet,  a  tottering  tower,  banners,  aerial  flashes  or  fire¬ 
works,  all  accentuate  the  impression  of  conflict  and  ex¬ 
plosions. 

If  one  looks  long  enough  in  this  mood  it  is  not  difficult 
to  read  into  the  canvas  all  sorts  of  interpretations  of  a  war¬ 
like  character. 

Yet  the  painting  was  “improvised” — composed  with  no 
direct  intention  of  suggesting  war. 

In  his  own  personal  note  book  wherein  he  keeps  a  record 
of  all  his  work,  Kandinsky  identifies  the  picture  by  a  hasty 
pencil  sketch  and  the  words,  “  Blue  Splashes,”  or  “  Masses,” 
and  “  Cannons.” 

Of  the  painting  he  says  in  a  letter: 

The  designation  “  Cannons,”  selected  by  me  for  my  own  use,  is 
not  to  be  conceived  as  indicating  the  “  contents  ”  of  the  picture. 

These  contents  are  indeed  what  the  spectator  lives,  or  feels  while 
under  the  effect  of  the  form  and  color  combinations  of  the  picture. 
This  picture  is  nearly  in  the  shape  of  a  cross.  The  centre  —  some¬ 
what  below  the  middle  —  is  formed  by  a  large,  irregular  blue  plane. 
(The  blue  color  in  itself  counteracts  the  impression  caused  by  the 
cannons!)  Below  this  centre  there  is  a  muddy-gray,  ragged  second 
centre  almost  equal  in  importance  to  the  first  one.  The  four  corners 
extending  the  oblique  cross  into  the  corners  of  the  picture  are  heavier 
than  the  two  centres,  especially  heavier  than  the  first,  and  they  vary 
from  each  other  in  characteristics,  in  lines,  contours,  and  colors. 


126  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


Thus  the  picture  becomes  lighter,  or  looser  in  the  centre,  and 
heavier,  or  tighter  towards  the  corners. 

The  scheme  of  the  construction  is  thus  toned  down,  even  made 
invisible  for  many,  by  the  looseness  of  the  forms.  Larger  or  smaller 
remains  of  objectivity  (the  cannons,  for  instance)  produce  in  the 
spectator  that  secondary  tone  which  objects  call  forth  in  all  who  feel. 

The  presence  of  the  cannons  in  the  picture  could  probably  be 
explained  by  the  constant  war  talk  that  had  been  going  on  through¬ 
out  the  year.  But  I  did  not  intend  to  give  a  representation  of  war; 
to  do  so  would  have  required  different  pictorial  means;  besides,  such 
tasks  do  not  interest  me  —  at  least  not  just  now. 

This  entire  description  is  chiefly  an  analysis  of  the  picture  which 
I  have  painted  rather  subconsciously  in  a  state  of  strong  inner  ten¬ 
sion.  So  intensively  did  I  feel  the  necessity  of  some  of  the  forms, 
that  I  remember  having  given  loud  voiced  directions  to  myself,  as 
for  instance:  “But  the  corners  must  be  heavy!”  In  such  cases  it  is 
of  importance  exactly  to  discern  all  things,  the  weight,  for  instance, 
by  the  feeling.  Generally  speaking,  I  might  almost  declare  that 
where  the  feeling  that  lies  in  the  soul,  in  the  eye,  and  in  the  hand  is 
strong  enough  to  faultlessly  determine  the  finest  measurements  and 
weights,  “schematism”  and  the  much-dreaded  “  consciosity  ”  will 
not  become  dangerous.  On  the  contrary,  in  this  case,  the  said  ele¬ 
ments  will  even  prove  immeasurably  beneficial. 

I  would  that  all  my  pictures  might  be  judged  exclusively  from 
this  point  of  view,  and  that  the  non-essentials  might  completely 
disappear  from  the  judgment. 

<$>❖<$> 

In  subsequent  letters  he  said: 

Whatever  I  might  say  about  myself  or  my  pictures  can  touch 
the  pure  artistic  meaning  only  superficially.  The  observer  must  learn 
to  look  at  the  picture  as  a  graphic  representation  of  a  mood  and  not 
as  a  representation  of  objects. 

<$>  <$>  <S> 

All  that  anyone  can  say  about  pictures,  and  what  I  might  say 
myself,  can  touch  the  contents,  the  pure  artistic  meaning,  of  a 
picture  only  superficially.  Each  spectator  for  himself  must  learn  to 
view  the  picture  solely  as  a  graphic  representation  of  a  mood,  pass¬ 
ing  over  as  unimportant  such  details  as  representations  or  suggestions 
of  natural  objects.  This  the  spectator  can  do  after  a  time,  and  where 
one  can  do  it,  many  can. 


THE  NEW  ART  IN  MUNICH 


127 


Given  a  work  of  art,  painting,  sculpture,  music  —  any¬ 
thing —  its  appreciation  and  understanding  depend  upon  the 
attitude  of  the  audience. 

A  work  of  art  may  be,  and  ultimately  must  be  viewed 
from  two  very  different  points  of  view  —  the  point  of  view 
of  the  artist,  and  the  point  of  view  of  the  observer. 

The  great  majority  of  people  view  a  painting  only  from 
the  latter  point  of  view,  only  in  the  light  of  their  preconccii'ed 
notions  and  prejudices  —  hence  the  ridicule  of  the  strange 
and  the  protest  against  the  new. 

A  very,  very  small  minority  —  a  minority  so  small  it 
numbers  scarce  one  in  ten  thousand  —  view  a  new  work 
searchingly  and  at  the  same  time  sympathetically  from  the 
artist’s  point  of  view,  seeking  diligently  to  find  out  what  he 
is  trying  to  do,  and  not  permitting  a  single  prejudice  or  pre¬ 
conceived  notion  of  their  own  to  bias  their  judgment. 

After  this  class  of  observers  have  ascertained  what  the 
artist  intended,  then,  and  not  until  then,  do  they  turn  and 
view  the  work  from  their  own  point  of  view  —  that  is,  in  the 
light  of  their  own  likes  and  dislikes. 

Their  final  appreciation  may  be  that  granting  the  theories 
of  the  artist  the  picture  is  a  fine  one,  but  they  do  not  agree 
with  the  artist’s  theories,  hence  the  picture  from  their  point 
of  view  is  a  failure  as  a  work  of  art. 

To  rightly  view  a  work  of  art  is  an  act  of  creation;  the  true 
observer  is  a  painter;  the  true  reader  is  a  poet. 

<$><$><$> 

It  is  not  at  all  strange  that  the  great  majority  referred 
to  should  resent  Kandinsky’s  improvisations,  for  they  are  not 
easy  to  understand,  though  most  of  them  are  undeniably 
fascinating  in  color. 

It  is  not  even  strange  that  a  large  percentage  of  the  in¬ 
telligent  and  sympathetic  minority  should  finally  reach  the 


128  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


conclusion  that  the  theories  of  the  artist  are  not  sound,  and 
therefore  all  his  work  based  on  his  extreme  theories  fails 
as  art  work,  but  the  attitude  of  this  fraction  of  the  minority 
is  an  attitude  of  intelligent  and  conscientious  conviction, 
reached  after  long  and  impartial  investigation,  while  the  atti¬ 
tude  of  the  great  majority  is  that  of  impulsive  ignorance  and 
irritation,  reached  on  first  impression  and  without  the  slight¬ 
est  attempt  at  understanding. 

<*>  <$> 

To  illustrate:  The  great  majority  of  people  on  first  hear¬ 
ing  Chinese  music  exclaim,  “  What  a  horrid  din !  ”  and  turn 
away. 

A  very,  very  small  minority,  about  one  man  in  a  million, 
say,  “  True,  it  sounds  to  us  like  a  din,  but  to  a  people  of 
extraordinary  civilization  it  is  music;  the  matter  is  worth  in¬ 
vestigating,”  and  on  investigation  it  would  be  found  that 
Chinese  music  from  time  immemorial  has  been  under  state 
supervision.* 

The  very  ancient  scale  was  pentatonic  —  five  tones.  It 
was  in  the  seventh  century,  B.  C.,  that  the  Asiatic  flute  was 
introduced  into  Greece  and  the  Greek  Doric  scale  trans¬ 
formed  into  one  of  five  tones.f 

Among  the  more  cultivated  nations,  the  Chinese,  and  Celts  of 
Scotland  and  Ireland  still  retain  the  scale  of  five  notes  without  semi¬ 
tones,  although  both  have  become  acquainted  with  the  complete 
scale  of  seven  tones. 

The  division  of  the  octave  into  twelve  semitones,  and  the  transpo¬ 
sition  of  scales  have  also  been  discovered  by  this  intelligent  and  skil¬ 
ful  nation. 

But,  generally  speaking,  both  the  Gaels  and  the  Chinese,  notwith¬ 
standing  their  acquaintance  with  the  modern  tonal  system,  hold  fast 
by  the  old.  And  it  cannot  be  denied  that  by  avoiding  the  semitones 

*  “  The  History  of  Music,”  Emil  Nauman,  Vol.  1,  p.  7  et  seq. 

t  See  “  Sensations  of  Tone,”  Helmholtz,  Eng.,  Edit.,  p.  258. 


GAUGUIN 
Portrait  of  Self 


Farmyard 


THE  NEW  ART  IN  MUNICH 


129 


of  the  diatonic  scale,  Scotch  airs  receive  a  peculiarly  bright  and 
mobile  character,  although  we  cannot  say  as  much  for  the  Chinese.* 

While  we  are  content  with  a  scale  divided  into  semi¬ 
tones,  the  more  delicate  oriental  ear  requires  quarter  tones. 
The  Arab  octave  is  divided  into  twenty-four  intervals.  A 
distinguished  musician  on  a  visit  to  Cairo  wrote  Helmholtz 
as  follows :  “  This  evening  I  have  listened  attentively  to 

the  song  on  the  minarets,  to  try  to  appreciate  the  quarter- 
tones  which  I  had  not  supposed  to  exist,  as  I  had  thought  the 
Arabs  sang  out  of  tune.  But  today  as  I  was  with  the  der¬ 
vishes  I  became  certain  that  such  quarter-tones  existed,  f 

In  discussing  the  development  of  our  modern,  equal  tem¬ 
perament  (adopted  commercially  in  England  for  pianos  not 
until  1846),  Helmholtz  says,  “Amiot  reports  equal  tempera¬ 
ment  from  China  long  previously  even  to  Pythagoras.”  £ 

The  Chinese  are  the  only  people  who,  thousands  of  years  ago, 
possessed  a  system  of  octaves,  a  circle  of  fifths,  and  a  normal  tone. 
With  this  knowledge,  however,  their  eighty-four  scales,  each  of  which 
has  a  special  philosophical  signification,  appear  all  the  more  incom¬ 
prehensible  to  us.§ 

“The  Chinese  believe  their  music  to  be  the  first  in  the 
world.  European  music  they  consider  to  be  barbaric  and 

horrible II  . 

11  <S>  <$>  <S> 

All  this  goes  to  show  how  hazardous  it  is  to  jump  to  the 
conclusion  that  what  we  don’t  understand  has  no  meaning. 

To  one  ignorant  of  Chinese  or  Japanese  or  Hebrew  hand¬ 
writing  it  seems  just  as  absurd  and  meaningless  as  a  draw¬ 
ing  by  Picasso  or  a  painting  by  Kandinsky,  but  to  the  earnest 

*  Helmholtz,  p.  258. 

t  Ibid.,  p.  265. 

$  For  a  scientific  investigation  of  Siamese  and  Japanese  scales, 
see  additions  to  English  edition  of  Helmholtz,  “  Sensation  of  Tone,” 
p.  556. 

§  “  History  of  Music,”  Nauman,  Vol.  I,  p.  10. 

||  Ibid.,  Vol.  I,  p.  12. 


130  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


and  indefatigable  searcher  after  hidden  meanings  the  strange 
handwriting  and  the  strange  pictures  both  deliver  up  a  mes- 

saSe-  «><$><$> 

Of  such  paintings  as  Kandinsky’s  improvisations  it  is 
often  flippantly  said,  “They  paint  that  way  because  they 
can’t  draw.” 

As  a  matter  of  fact  most  of  the  extreme  moderns  such 
as  Picasso,  Matisse,  Kandinsky,  are  past-masters  of  the  art 
of  drawing. 

But  they  do  not  now  attach  the  importance  to  drawing, 
merely  for  the  sake  of  drawing,  they  once  did. 

Kandinsky’s  own  attitude  is  expressed  in  the  following 
extract  from  a  letter: 

As  regards  other  artists,  I  am  very  tolerant,  but  at  the  same  time 
most  severe;  my  opinion  of  artists  is  influenced  but  little  by  consid¬ 
erations  of  the  element  of  form,  pure  and  simple;  I  expect  of  the 
artist  to  bear  within  at  least  the  “  sacred  spark  ”  (if  not  “  flame  ”). 
There  really  is  nothing  easier  than  to  master  the  form  of  something 
or  someone.  Boecklin  is  quoted  as  having  said  that  even  a  poodle- 
dog  might  learn  how  to  draw,  and  in  this  he  was  correct.  At  the 
schools  I  attended  I  had  more  than  a  hundred  colleagues  who  had 
learned  something,  many  had  in  good  time  managed  to  draw  quite 
well  and  anatomically  correct  —  still,  they  were  not  artists,  not  a 
pfennig’s  worth.  In  short,  I  value  only  those  artists  who  really  are 
artists;  that  is,  who  consciously  or  unconsciously,  in  an  entirely 
original  form,  or  in  a  style  bearing  their  personal  imprint,  embody 
the  expression  of  their  inner  self ;  who,  consciously  or  unconsciously, 
work  only  for  this  end  and  cannot  work  otherzvise.  The  number  off 
such  artists  is  very  few.  If  I  were  a  collector  I  would  buy  the  works 
of  such  even  if  there  were  weaknesses  in  what  they  did;  such  weak¬ 
nesses  grow  less  in  time  and  finally  disappear  entirely,  and  though 
they  may  be  apparent  in  the  earlier  works  of  the  artist  still  they  do 
not  deprive  even  these  earlier  and  less  perfect  works  of  value.  But 
the  other  weakness,  that  of  lack  of  soul,  never  decreases  with  time, 
but  is  sure  to  grow  worse  and  become  more  and  more  apparent,  and 
so  render  absolutely  valueless  works  that  technically  may  be  very 
correct.  The  entire  history  of  art  is  proof  of  this.  The  union  of 
both  kinds  of  strength  —  that  of  intellect  or  spirituality  with  that  of 


THE  NEW  ART  IN  MUNICH  131 

form,  or  technical  perfection  —  is  most  rare,  as  is  also  demonstrated 
by  the  history  of  art. 

<§><$>  <$> 

From  his  exceedingly  abstruse  article  “On  the  Question 
of  Form  in  Der  Blaue  Reiter,”  I  take  and  paraphrase  the 
following : 

At  certain  times  our  inner  forces  —  impulses  —  mature 
and  the  result  is  a  longing  to  create  something,  and  we  try 
to  find  a  material  form  —  manifestation  —  for  the  new  value 
that  exists  in  us  in  spiritual  or  intellectual  form. 

This  is  the  seeking  of  the  spiritual  for  material  expression. 
Matter  is  but  the  store  house  out  of  which  the  spirit  selects 
the  necessary  elements  to  secure  the  objective  result. 

Thus  the  creative  spirit  is  hidden  in  the  matter,  behind  the 
material  manifestation  through  which  it  must  make  itself 
known.  But  often  the  material  envelope  is  so  dense  that 
only  a  few  people  can  discern  the  spiritual  idea  within  and 
behind  it ;  some  people  never  penetrate  behind  the  matter 
at  all,  and  therefore,  never  comprehend  the  spiritual  mes¬ 
sage. 

While  many  comprehend  the  spiritual  content  behind  the 
outward  forms  of  religion,  they  do  not  realize  that  there  is, 
or  should  be,  a  spiritual  content  behind  the  outward  forms 
of  art. 

There  are  whole  epochs  when  men  seem  blind  to  the 
spiritual  truths  that  are  behind  material  manifestations ;  gen¬ 
erally  speaking,  the  nineteenth  century  was  a  century  of 

materialism. 

It  is  as  if  a  black  hand  were  placed  over  the  eyes  of  men 
so  they  should  not  see  the  spiritual  forces  behind  the  ma¬ 
terial,  and  the  production  of  new  spiritual  values  is  fought 
by  mockery  and  calumny.  The  man  who  produces  the  new 
value  is  held  up  to  ridicule  and  called  a  charlatan. 


132  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


The  joy  of  living  is  the  perpetual  victory  of  the  new,  the 
spiritual  value.  But  even  as  men  learn  to  appreciate  the  new 
of  yesterday  and  today  they  establish  it  as  a  barrier  against 
the  new  of  tomorrow.  Spiritual  development  and  evolution 
are  a  constant  throwing  down  of  these  bars  that  are  as 
constantly  re-erected  by  the  materialism  and  blindness  of 
mankind. 

Therefore  the  important  thing  is  not  only  the  impulse 
to  create  new  spiritual  values,  but  liberty  to  do  so. 

The  spiritual  is  the  absolute,  the  outward  form  is  relative, 
it  is  born  of  the  place  and  the  hour.  Therefore  one  should 
not  fall  into  the  worship  of  a  particular  form,  but  should  use 
whatever  form  best  serves  to  express  the  spiritual  content. 

And,  naturally,  each  artist  must  use  his  ozvn  form  to 
express  his  own  ideas,  and  form  should  have  the  stamp  of 
personality. 

Each  nation,  each  epoch  will  develop  its  own  forms,  or 
peculiarities  of  forms,  and  it  is  the  reflection  of  the  nation, 
the  epoch,  the  individual  in  the  particular  form  that  is 
known  as,  or  makes  the  style. 

When  a  group  of  artists  is  animated  by  the  same  spirit 
the  forms  they  use  will  be  so  alike  the  result  will  be  a 
“  movement  ”  or  “  school  ”  in  art ;  but  a  “  school  ”  should  not 
be  permitted  to  dominate  the  freedom  of  others.  Every 
individual  must  be  at  liberty  to  choose  the  form  that  best 
expresses  the  spiritual  message  he  wishes  to  utter. 

The  form  —  picture  —  may  be  agreeable  or  disagreeable, 
beautiful  or  ugly,  harmonious  or  disharmonious,  but  it  must 
not  be  judged  on  its  outward  appearance;  it  must  be  judged 
by  the  idea,  the  spiritual  value  behind  it.  We  must  look 
through  the  form  to  the  spiritual,  as  we  would  look  through 
the  deformed  body  of  the  cripple  to  the  soul  of  the  man. 

In  practical  life  we  never  meet  a  man  who,  if  he  wishes 


GAUGUIN 
Scene  in  Tahiti 


THE  NEW  ART  IN  MUNICH 


133 


to  go  to  Berlin,  gets  off  the  train  at  Regensberg.  But  in 
spiritual  life  it  is  a  common  thing  to  find  people  who  step 
out  at  Regensberg.  Sometimes  the  engine  driver  refuses  to 
go  on  and  all  the  travelers  have  to  leave  the  train  at  Regens¬ 
berg.  How  many  who  are  looking  for  God  stop  before  a 
carved  image!  How  many  who  are  looking  for  art  are  caught 
by  some  form  that  has  been  used  by  some  great  artist  to 
express  his  ideas! 

And  in  conclusion  he  asserts,  it  is  not  of  vital  importance 
whether  the  form  is  personal,  national,  according  to  prevail¬ 
ing  mode,  or  whether  it  is  related  to  “  schools,”  “  move¬ 
ments,”  etc.,  etc.,  or  is  isolated.  “The  important  question  is 
zvhether  the  form  has  grown  out  of  the  inner,  spiritual  necessity.” 

-$><$><$> 

In  art,  especially  in  painting,  we  have  today  striking  rich¬ 
ness  of  form  which  shows  the  immense  striving  that  is 
going  on. 

To  adhere  stubbornly  to  one  form  is  to  travel  a  lane  that 
has  no  outlet. 

Many  call  the  present  state  of  painting  “anarchy,”  and 
so  they  say  of  music,  but  this  appearance  of  anarchy,  of 
lawlessness,  is  due  to  the  workings  of  spiritual  forces  that 
cannot  be  expressed  in  old  forms,  but  demand  new  mani¬ 
festations. 

It  is  one  thing  to  reproduce  on  canvas  an  accurate  repre¬ 
sentation  of  an  object,  but  such  a  representation  is  no  more 
than  the  outer  shell;  to  find  out  whether  the  picture  has  any 
real,  any  spiritual  value  one  must  get  rid  of  this  outer  shell. 
Step  by  step  the  “objective,”  the  photographic  elements  are 
eliminated  until  in  the  end  there  may  be  no  trace  of  any 
object,  and  with  this  elimination  the  spiritual  content  be¬ 
comes  plainer  and  plainer.  The  steps  are: 

Realism  —  abstraction  — 


134  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


Abstraction  —  reality. 

<S>  ❖  <$> 

Objects  need  not  necessarily  be  eliminated  from  a  picture, 
but  they  should  be  used  not  for  the  sake  of  forcing  their 
photographic  likenesses  upon  the  observer,  but  solely  to 
more  perfectly  express  the  inner,  the  spiritual  significance 
of  the  work. 

If  a  painter  introduces  a  suggestion  of  a  landscape  or  a 
bit  of  still  life  it  should  be  for  the  purpose  of  making  his 
meaning,  his  inner  feeling  plainer  to  the  beholder,  and  not 
for  the  purpose  of  making  a  colored  photograph  of  a  field  or 
flowers. 

Therefore  it  does  not  matter  whether  actual  or  abstract 
forms  are  used  by  the  artist,  so  long  as  both  are  used  to 
express  spiritual  values.  The  sole  question  regarding  form  the 
artist  should  put  to  himself  is,  “Which  form,  or  combination 
of  forms,  shall  I  use  in  this  case  to  express  most  fully  and 
plainly  my  spiritual  mood?” 

<$>  <S>  <$> 

The  ideal  art  critic  is  not  the  critic  who  tries  to  discover 
mistakes,  ignorance,  imitations  in  the  form,  but  he  who  tries 
to  feel  and  understand  how  the  form  expresses  the  inner  feeling 
of  the  artist  and  who  tries  to  make  the  public  understand. 

A  painter  may  use  new  and  strange  forms  for  the  sake 
of  the  forms,  just  for  the  sake  of  painting  new  and  strange 
pictures,  but  the  result  will  be  lifeless. 

It  is  only  when  new  and  strange  forms  are  used  because 
they  are  necessary  to  express  a  spiritual  content  that  the 
result  is  a  living  work  of  art. 

“  The  world  reverberates ;  it  is  a  cosmos  of  spiritually  work¬ 
ing  human  beings.  Thus  matter  is  living  spirit.” 

<S>  <$> 

Rather  a  fine  philosophy,  is  it  not? 


THE  NEW  ART  IN  MUNICH 


135 


One  cannot  but  feel  that  out  of  such  thoughts  good 
works  must  come. 

<$>  <$>  <$> 

To  quote  once  more  from  a  personal  letter: 

“I  have  now  been  exhibiting  for  almost  fifteen  years,  and 
for  the  same  fifteen  years  I  have  been  hearing  (although  more 
rarely  of  late)  that  I  have  gone  too  far  on  my  way;  that  in 
time  my  exaggerations  will  most  surely  decrease,  and  that  I 
would  yet  paint  in  an  ‘  entirely  different  manner  ’ ;  that  I 
would  ‘  return  to  nature.’  I  had  to  hear  this  for  the  first  time 
when  I  exhibited  my  studies  painted  on  the  naturalist  basis 
with  the  horn  (spatula). 

“  The  truth  of  the  matter  is  that  every  really  gifted  artist, 
that  is,  an  artist  working  under  an  impulse  from  within,  must 
go  in  a  way  that  in  some  mystical  manner  has  been  laid  out 
for  him  from  the  very  start.  His  life  is  nothing  but  the  ful¬ 
fillment  of  a  task  set  for  him  (for  him,  not  by  himself).  Meet¬ 
ing  with  enmity  from  the  start,  he  feels  only  vaguely  and 
indistinctly  that  he  carries  a  message  for  the  expression  of 
which  he  must  find  a  certain  manner.  This  is  the  period  of 
‘  storm  and  stress,’  then  follow  desperate  searching,  pain,  great 
pain  —  until  finally  his  eyes  open  and  he  says  to  himself, 
‘  There  is  my  way.’  The  rest  of  his  life  lies  along  this  path. 
And  one  must  follow  it  to  the  very  last  hour  whether  one 
wants  to  do  so,  or  not.  And  no  one  must  imagine  that  this  is 
a  Sunday  afternoon’s  walk,  for  which  one  selects  the  route 
at  will.  Neither  is  there  any  Sunday  about  it;  it  is  a  work¬ 
ing  day,  in  the  strongest  sense  possible.  And  the  greater  the 
artist,  the  more  one-sided  is  he  in  his  work;  true,  he  retains 
the  ability  to  do  ‘nice’  work  of  other  kind  (by  reason  of  his 
‘talent’),  but  innerly  weighty,  infinitely  deep,  and  immeasur¬ 
able  serious  things  he  can  achieve  only  in  his  one-sided  art. 
Talent  is  not  an  electric  pocket  lantern,  the  rays  of  which  one 


136  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


may  at  will  direct  now  hither  and  then  thither;  it  is  a  star 
for  which  the  path  is  being  prescribed  by  the  dear  Lord. 

“  As  far  as  I  am  concerned  personally,  I  was  as  if  thunder¬ 
struck,  when  for  the  first  time  and  in  only  a  general  manner 
I  began  to  see  my  way.  I  was  awed.  I  deemed  this  inspira¬ 
tion  to  be  a  delusion,  a  ‘temptation.’ 

“  will  easily  understand  what  doubts  I  had  to  over¬ 
come,  until  I  became  convinced  that  I  had  to  follow  this  way. 
Of  course,  I  clearly  understood  what  it  means  ‘to  drop  the 
objective.’  With  what  doubts  I  was  troubled  regarding  my 
own  powers!  For  I  knew  at  once  what  powers  were  absolutely 
required  for  this  task.  How  this  inner  development  pro¬ 
ceeded,  how  everything  pushed  me  on  to  this  way  and  how 
the  exterior  development  slowly  but  logically  (step  by  step) 
followed  suit,  you  will  see  from  my  book  that  is  to  appear 
shortly  (in  English).  All  that  I  still  see  ahead  of  me,  all  these 
tasks,  the  ever-increasing  wealth  of  possibilities,  the  ever¬ 
growing  depth  of  painting  I  cannot  describe.  And  one  must 
and  may  not  describe  such  things:  they  must  mature  innerly 
in  secret  confinement  and  may  not  be  expressed  otherwise 
than  by  the  painter’s  art. 

“  If  in  time  you  acquire  the  ability  to  more  exactly  live  my 
pictures,  you  will  have  to  admit  that  the  element  of  ‘  chance  ’ 
is  very  rarely  met  with  in  these  pictures,  and  that  it  is  more 
than  amply  covered  by  the  large  positive  sides  —  so  amply, 
indeed,  that  it  is  not  worth  while  to  mention  those  weak 
spots. 

“  My  constructive  forms,  although  outwardly  appearing  in¬ 
distinct,  are  in  fact  rigidly  fixed  as  if  they  were  cut  in  stone. 

“  These  explanations  lead  us  too  far ;  they  could  help  only 
if  illustrated  by  examples.  Also,  this  letter  is  already  much 
longer  than  it  ought  to  be.  I  trust  that  I  have  expressed 
myself  clearly!  These  things  are  so  infinitely  complicated. 


f  </  'a ■ 

k  i|s- 

Hk  ' 

'IIS?.  J 

THE  NEW  ART  IN  MUNICH  137 

and  how  often  do  I  deviate  from  my  theme  and  thus  (instead 
of  producing  ‘clarity’)  cause  confusion  to  become  worse 

confounded!”  .  . 

<S>  <$>  <$> 

The  result  are  paintings  such  as  the  four  reproduced  in 
color  and  half-tone. 

The  brilliant  color  combinations  and  harmonies  of  the 
originals  are  inadequately  disclosed  in  the  reproductions,  the 
scale  is  too  reduced.  But  the  forms  are  well  indicated,  strange, 
curious  forms,  meaningless  on  first  impression  but  insistent. 

Most  people  are  repelled  at  once  by  the  landscapes  because 
they  seem  so  badly  drawn  a  child  could  do  better;  but  even 
as  landscapes,  as  impressions  of  nature  —  or  rather  of  some¬ 
thing  in  nature  —  the  pictures  will  not  be  denied. 

If  they  were  intended  to  be  accurate  representations  of 
natural  scenes,  mountains,  fields,  trees,  houses,  they  would 
be  ridiculous  indeed,  but  they  are  not  so  intended,  therefore 
they  should  not  be  so  judged. 

In  looking  at  these  pictures  —  compositions,  rather,  it  is 
but  fair  to  look  at  them  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  painter, 
try  to  read  them  as  he  wrote  them. 

<$>  <$>  <$> 

“  Compositional ”  painting  is  no  radical  departure,  no  new 
discovery. 

The  instinct  of  the  child  is  to  “  compose,”  to  create.  It  is 
only  after  much  chiding  and  correction  that  the  child  draws 
literally  —  copies  what  it  sees. 

<$><$><$> 

It  takes  a  big  and  strong  man  to  pass  through  schools 
and  academies  and  come  out  unscathed.  The  art  school  is 
a  godsend  to  talent  and  mediocrity ;  it  is  a  menace  to  genius. 

Most  paintings  are  “compositional”  to  some  extent.  But 


138  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


from  the  literalness  of  Monet’s  hay  stacks  to  the  abstract 
qualities  of  Kandinsky’s  improvisations  the  interval  is  great. 

There  is,  too,  a  difference  in  kind,  as  well  as  degree, 
between  the  compositions  of  the  painter  who  simply  re¬ 
arranges  nature,  persons,  or  objects  to  secure  a  pleasing  or 
effective  result,  and  the  painter  who  uses  nature,  life,  or 
objects  as  so  many  signs  or  notes  to  express  his  inner  feel¬ 
ings;  the  former  paints  to  impress  others,  the  latter  paints  to 
express  himself  to  others.  The  one  is  thinking  all  the  time  of 
his  picture,  the  other  is  thinking  all  the  time  of  his  message. 

All  great  painters  have  combined  the  two  attitudes,  they 
have  expressed  themselves  in  pictures  that  not  only  convey 
the  message  but  as  pictures  impress  others  —  that  is  char¬ 
acteristic  of  the  world’s  great  art. 

At  the  moment  the  pendulum  is  swinging  toward  the 
extreme  where  everything  is  subordinated  to  the  expression 
of  the  artist’s  self,  and  the  indications  are  that  some  subtle 
and  wonderful  things  will  be  painted  before  the  pendulum 
swings  back.  ^  ^ 

To  what  extent  the  public  generally  will  accept  pure 
compositional  painting  it  is  impossible  to  say;  but  the  num¬ 
ber  of  those  who  enjoy  it  will  steadily  increase  until  there 
will  be  many  lovers  of  art  who  will  collect  only  the  most 

abstract  works.  .  »  , 

<$><$>  <S> 

A  Russian  painter  of  great  strength  but  entirely  different 
inspiration  and  technic  was  asked,  “  Do  you  like  Kandinsky’s 
Improvisations?  ” 

“Very  much.” 

“Do  you  understand  them?” 

“  No.” 

“Then  why  do  you  like  them?” 

“  Because  they  give  me  pleasure  and  I  am  sure  that  as 


THE  NEW  ART  IN  MUNICH 


139 


I  look  at  them  they  excite  in  me  the  same  pleasure  they 
excited  in  him  when  he  painted  them;  he  has  succeeded  in 
conveying  to  me  his  own  emotions  and  that  is  the  most  any 
artist  can  hope  to  do.” 

Which  brings  us  back  to  the  proposition  laid  down  in  an 
earlier  chapter:  the  emotional  reaction  to  music  and  paint¬ 
ing  may  be  and  usually  is  quite  independent  of  the  intel¬ 
lectual,  and  while  it  may  be  either  increased  or  diminished 

in  volume  by  understanding,  it  is  necessarily  changed  in  char¬ 
acter. 

<$>  <S>  <$> 

Another  artist,  an  Austrian,  was  asked: 

“How  do  you  like  Kandinsky’s  Improvisations?” 

After  a  moment’s  hesitation  he  replied  slowly:  “They 
Interest  me  immensely,  and  I  admire  the  man’s  courage  to 
express  himself  in  his  own  way  regardless  whether  people 
understand  him  or  not,  but  he  goes  so  far  that  it  is  almost 
impossible  for  even  his  friends  and  sympathizers  to  under¬ 
stand  his  pictures.  He  goes  so  far  he  is  quite  alone,  no  one 
can  follow,  and  therein  I  think  perhaps  he  makes  a  mistake, 
for  after  all  pictures  should  be  so  painted  that  those  who 
earnestly  try  can  understand  them.” 

But  that  is  just  the  question  that  every  great  artist  is 
obliged  to  put  to  himself,  “  Shall  I  write  or  paint  so  that 
others  will  understand,  or  shall  I  express  myself  in  my  own 
way  even  though  no  one  but  myself  comprehends  and  even 
I  fail  at  times?” 

It  is  just  as  bad  to  paint  with  the  sole  purpose  of  being 
understood  —  commercialism  —  as  it  is  to  paint  with  the  sole 
purpose  of  being  misunderstood  —  charlatanism. 


VIII 


COLOR  MUSIC 

OLOR  MUSIC  is  no  new  idea,  but  of  late  it  is  finding 
new  expression. 

While  painters  are  beginning  to  paint  color  harmonies 
that  are  independent  of  the  representations  of  natural  objects, 
others  are  seeking  the  same  emotional  effects  with  colored 
lights. 

A  “color  organ”  has  been  invented*  which  deals  with 
color  for  its  own  sake  as  music  does  with  sound,  thereby 
opening  up  a  new  world  of  beauty  and  interest  as  yet  to  a 
great  extent  unexplored. 

When  you  enter  Mr.  Rimington’s  English  studio  you  see  at  one 
end  of  it  a  curious  instrument  with  a  keyboard  and  stops,  while  at 
the  other  end  is  a  white  screen,  hung  in  folds  to  give  greater  depth 
and  life  to  the  colors  playing  upon  it.  What  happens  when  the  instru¬ 
ment  is  played  is  thus  described  by  Mr.  Rimington: 

“  Imagine  a  darkened  concert  room.  At  one  end  there  is  a 
large  screen  of  white  drapery  in  folds,  surrounded  with  black  and 
framed  by  two  bands  of  pure  white  light.  Upon  this  we  will  suppose, 
as  an  example  of  a  simple  color  composition,  that  there  appears  the 
faintest  possible  flush  of  rose  color,  which  very  gradually  fades  away 
while  we  are  enjoying  its  purity  and  subtlety  of  tint,  and  we  return 
to  darkness.  Then,  with  an  interval,  it  is  repeated  in  three  succes¬ 
sive  phases,  the  last  of  which  is  stronger  and  more  prolonged. 

“While  it  is  still  lingering  upon  the  screen,  a  rapid  series  of 
touches  of  pale  lavender  notes  of  color  begin  to  flit  across  it,  gradu¬ 
ally  strengthening  into  deep  violet.  This  again  becomes  shot  with 
amethyst,  and  afterward  changing  gradually  into  a  broken  tint  of 
ruby,  gives  a  return  to  the  warmer  tones  of  the  opening  passage. 

“  A  delicate  primrose  now  appears,  and  with  little  runs  and  flushes 
of  pulsation  leads  through  several  passages  of  indescribable  cinna- 

*  By  Mr.  A.  W.  Rimington,  Professor  of  Fine  Arts  at  Queen’s 
College,  London.  See  his  book,  “  Color  Music.” 

140 


PICASSO 
Old  Woman 


GIRIEUD 
Woman  Seated 


COLOR  MUSIC 


141 


mon  color  to  deep  topaz.  Then  suddenly  interweavings  of  strange 
green  and  peacock  blue,  with  now  and  then  a  touch  of  pure  white, 
make  us  seem  to  feel  the  tremulousness  of  the  Mediterranean  on  a 
breezy  day,  and  as  the  color  deepens  there  are  harmonies  of  violet 
and  blue  green  which  recall  its  waves  under  a  Tramontana  sky.  More 
and  more  powerful  they  grow,  and  the  eye  revels  in  the  depth  and 
magnificence  of  the  color  as  the  executant  strikes  chord  after  chord 
among  the  bass  notes  of  the  instrument. 

“  Then  suddenly  the  screen  is  again  dark  and  there  is  only  a 
rhythmic  and  echoing  beat  of  the  dying  color  upon  it.  At  last  this 
disappears  also,  and  there  is  another  silent  pause,  then  one  hesitating 
tint  of  faded  rose  as  at  the  opening  of  the  composition. 

“  Upon  this  follows  a  stronger  return  of  the  color,  and  as  the 
screen  once  more  begins  to  glow  with  note  after  note  of  red  and 
scarlet,  we  are  prepared  for  the  rapid  crescendo  which  finally  leads 
up  to  a  series  of  staccato  and  forte  chords  of  pure  crimson  which 
almost  startle  us  with  the  force  of  their  color  before  they  die  away 
into  blackness! 

“  This,”  says  Mr.  Rimington,  “  is  an  extremely  simple  example, 
but  it  may  suffice  to  show  the  kind  of  effect  produced  by  an  unadorned 
form  of  mobile  color  not  accompanied  by  music.  In  some  cases  a 
musical  accompaniment  was  found  to  add  greatly  to  the  interest  of 
a  color  composition.  The  nearest  approach  to  color  music  in  nature 
is  to  be  found  in  certain  sunsets.”  Of  the  emotional  and  aesthetic 
effect  of  color  music  on  various  beholders  we  read: 

The  amount  of  pleasure  and  interest  derived  from  color  composi¬ 
tions  varies  immensely  with  individuals.  An  interesting  instance 
of  this  was  the  case  of  a  well-known  London  doctor,  who  told  the 
author,  after  first  seeing  a  recital  of  color-music,  that  he  was  abso¬ 
lutely  unappreciative  of  any  form  of  “sound  music;”  that  it  was, 
in  fact,  a  pain  to  him,  and  that  he  had  always  detested  it.  “  But,”  he 
said,  “  from  the  moment  that  I  first  saw  a  display  of  mobile  color, 
I  realized  what  I  had  missed  all  my  life  through  my  inability  to  appre¬ 
ciate  music.  It  opened  up  a  new  world  of  sensations  to  me  and  gave 
me  the  greatest  mental  pleasure  I  have  ever  experienced.”  This 
clearly  shows  that  to  some  persons  mobile  color  would,  or  does,  fill 
the  place  which  music  can  not  occupy  in  their  lives. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  to  some,  though 
they  would  hardly  own  it,  color  of  any  kind  is  more  or  less  unpleas¬ 
ant,  and  they  would  prefer  to  live  in  a  monotonic  world.  One  must 
therefore  be  prepared  for  a  great  variety  of  opinions  with  regard 
to  any  such  art  as  that  of  mobile  color.  The  majority  of  people 
will  probably  derive  a  moderate  but  increasing  pleasure  from  it. 


142  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


There  are  many  to  whom  it  at  once  provides  a  surpassingly  inter¬ 
esting  source  of  enjoyment  and  education,  and  some  to  whom,  like 
my  medical  friend,  it  will  open  up  an  entirely  new  world  of  sensa¬ 
tions;  and  there  are  others,  again,  to  whom  it  will  be  supremely  dis¬ 
tasteful.  It  is  well  to  recognize  this  to  avoid  disappointment,  and 
be  prepared  for  very  divergent  expressions  of  opinion  about  it. 

Speaking  broadly,  it  appeals  most  to  those  who  have  had  an 
artistic  training  into  which  color  has  entered,  and  it  is  less  attractive 
to  those  whose  interests  center  in  music.  This  is  not  what  the  author 
personally  expected.  He  imagined  that  the  connection  with  music 
being  so  close  on  some  points,  those  who  would  take  the  greatest 
interest  in  mobile  color  would  be  musicians;  but,  with  some  striking 
exceptions  among  distinguished  musicians,  the  musical  world,  as  far 
as  it  has  yet  come  into  contact  with  color-music,  has  been  at  first 
inclined  to  see  points  of  divergence  rather  than  those  of  analogy 
and  to  look  upon  the  art  as  a  possible  rival.  A  similar  attitude  is 
often  adopted  toward  any  new  departure  in  science  or  art,  and  there 
is  no  reason  for  resenting  it;  it  merely  makes  the  cooperation  of 
those  among  musicians  who  are  able  to  take  a  sympathetic  view 
and  welcome  the  endeavor  to  open  up  new  fields  of  investigation  all 
the  more  valuable. 

<$>  <3>  <$> 

From  time  immemorial  child  and  man  have  taken  the 
keenest  delight  in  fireworks  and  colored  lights  which  are 
after  all  a  species  of  light  music. 

Since  the  adoption  of  electricity  for  lighting  it  is  com¬ 
paratively  easy  to  produce  the  most  wonderful  effects  both 
indoors  and  out. 

As  yet  little  thought  has  been  given  to  producing  har¬ 
monious  light  effects  on  streets  —  save  in  advertising  signs. 
For  the  most  part  the  lighting  is  garish  in  the  extreme, 
often  positively  painful  to  the  eyes,  but  in  time  this  will  be 
corrected.  Public  authorities  cooperating  with  private  own¬ 
ers  will  work  out  schemes  for  lighting  streets  and  shops  that 
will  yield  charming  effects. 

❖  <$>  <$> 

Already  much  has  been  done  in  the  theater,  especially 


143 


COLOR  MUSIC 

in  Russia  and  Germany.  The  value  of  light  effects  is  being 
recognized.  Soft  music  is  often  played  to  enhance  the  effect 
of  a  tender  or  pathetic  scene,  and  it  is  quite  common  for  the 
lights  to  change  in  harmony. 

By  the  use  of  light  alone  as  an  accompaniment  to  a  love 
scene  the  same  effect  on  the  audience  can  be  secured  as  by 
the  use  of  soft  music. 

So  far  all  this  has  been  done  crudely  and  for  the  most  part 
unscientifically.  Producer  and  electrician  have  worked  to¬ 
gether  in  a  haphazard  way,  often  with  great  success,  some¬ 
times  with  most  disagreeable  results. 

The  very  term  “  stage  lighting  ”  is  not  inspiring,  but  the 
art  of  light  music  will  be  developed  and  be  taught  in  theory 
and  practice.  Masters  of  the  art  will  come  and  men  will 
realize  that  it  is  just  as  great  an  art  to  satisfy  the  eye  with 
light  melodies  as  it  is  to  please  the  ear  with  sound  melodies. 

There  yet  may  be  entertainments  where  only  light  music 
is  played  as  there  are  concerts  where  only  sound  music  is 
played. 

And  why  not?  Just  ask  yourself  the  question  — Why 
not? 

Of  all  the  organs  of  sense  the  eye  is  the  most  delicate 
and  the  most  wonderful.  The  ear  responds  to  air  waves  that 
travel  at  the  rate  of  1,100  feet  per  second  and  vary  in  fre¬ 
quency  from  16  to  32,000  per  second.  The  musical  notes 
vary  from  32  to  5,000  beats  per  second. 

The  eye  responds  to  ether  waves  that  travel  at  the  rate  of 
182,000  miles  per  second  and  vary  in  frequency  from  400 
millions  millions  —  the  lowest  red  of  the  spectrum  —  to 
750  millions  millions  (red  400,000,000,000,000;  violet  750,- 
000,000,000,000)  the  highest  violet. 

<§><$><$> 

Man  has  devoted  ages  to  developing  harmonies  in  the 


144  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 

combination  of  air  waves,  and  he  has  reduced  sound  music  to 
a  science. 

He  has  devoted  all  the  ages  of  his  being  to  the  use  of 
color  in  one  way  and  another  to  please  his  eye,  but  only  of 
late  has  he  made  any  attempt  to  understand  the  science  of 
light  and  color  music. 

<$>  <$> 

The  material  civilization  we  have  attained  in  comparison 
with  the  spiritual  civilization  we  should  attain  is  fairly  well 
indicated  by  the  vast  difference  between  the  crude  and 
natural  art  of  sound  effects  which  is,  so  far,  man’s  most 
abstract  achievement  in  art,  and  the  incomparably  finer  and 
more  ethereal  art  of  light  and  color  effects  which  will  be 
one  of  the  crowning  achievements  of  man’s  nobler  future. 

<$><$><$> 

The  painter  of  easel  pictures  arrogates  to  himself  the 
name  artist  and  to  his  work  the  phrase  fine  art.  He  looks 
down  upon  the  house  painter,  the  dressmaker,  and  the  in¬ 
terior  decorator. 

Yet  as  compared  with  those  who  clothe  our  bodies  and 
decorate  our  homes  in  harmonies  of  line  and  color  the  painter 
of  easel  pictures  cuts  very  little  figure  in  life;  he  plays  his 
part  but  much  of  his  inspiration  is  drawn  from  the  work 
of  the  other  two. 

It  should  never  be  forgotten  that  in  all  the  great  portraits 
of  the  world  the  clothes  and  the  interiors  that  furnish  the 
beautiful  color  schemes  preceded  the  pictures  often  by  genera¬ 
tions. 

The  costumer  and  the  decorator  work  year  in  and  year 
out,  from  generation  to  generation,  throughout  the  centuries, 
with  not  so  much  as  a  thought  of  the  painter  in  the  comer 
with  his  little  canvas,  faithfully  copying. 


COLOR  MUSIC 


145 


Now  and  then  a  great  painter,  a  great  sculptor,  takes 
off  his  coat,  turns  workman  for  the  moment  and  makes 
sculptures  for  buildings,  paints  pictures  on  walls,  devises 
costumes,  and  contributes  to  making  our  environment  more 
beautiful. 

But  not  infrequently  the  sculptor  and  the  painter  upset 
the  equilibrium  of  the  work  of  others  by  doing  things  which 
are  out  of  key  or  out  of  proportion.  The  “  fine  artist  ”  may 
bring  the  work  of  decorating  to  a  standstill  by  painting 
spotty  easel  pictures  on  walls  that  should  be  treated  in  har¬ 
mony  with  the  entire  building  and  with  its  uses. 

<3>  <$> 

The  time  will  come  when  art  schools  will  teach  pure 
color  composition  as  well  as  drawing  and  the  painting  of 
pictures. 

Why  should  not  prizes  be  offered  for  color  harmonies? 

As  it  is  now  pupils  are  taught  everything  except  the  use 
of  color  for  the  sake  of  color. 

<$>  3> 

What  is  a  still  life  ?  Simply  a  painting  of  a  number 
of  objects  selected  and  arranged  primarily  for  their  color 

notes.  Why  not  paint  the  notes  without  the  fruit  and 
dishes? 

So  far  as  the  color  harmony  is  concerned  the  figure  of  an 
orange,  an  apple,  a  banana  is  not  essential;  in  reality  the 
photographic  realization  distracts.  But  the  public  is  not 
accustomed  to  pure  color  music,  it  is  not  accustomed  to  see¬ 
ing  canvases  that  contain  only  color  harmonies  with  no 
suggestion  of  object  or  form,  it  demands  that  the  note  of 
yellow  shall  be  a  lemon  or  a  banana,  that  the  note  of  purple 
shall  assume  the  shape  of  a  plum  and  so  on,  and  so  on;  yet 
all  the  time  the  enjoyment  derived  from  a  fine  “  still  life  ”  is 


146  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


from  the  harmony  that  results  from  the  combination  of 
colors,  and  in  no  sense  from  the  objects  arbitrarily  and  arti¬ 
ficially  grouped  together. 

<S>  <$> 

The  use  of  line  and  color  imitatively  to  depict  objects  is 
one  thing. 

The  use  of  line  and  color  freely  to  produce  pure  line 
harmonies  and  pure  color  harmonies,  with  no  reference  to 
objects  is  quite  another,  and  in  a  sense,  a  far  higher  art  —  a 
more  abstract  art. 

It  is  toward  the  development  of  this  more  abstract  art 
that  the  modern  experiments  are  tending.  The  net  result  in 
the  long  run  will  be  the  education  of  a  considerable  fraction 
of  the  public  to  the  appreciation  of  pure  line  and  color  music 
and  a  consequent  demand  for  paintings  that  are  simply  pure 
line  and  color  compositions. 

With  this  development  of  a  taste  for  a  very  abstract  art 
all  the  arts  and  crafts  are  certain  to  be  beneficially  affected. 

The  study  of  line  for  the  sake  of  line,  and  of  color  for 
the  sake  of  color  if  systematically  pursued  will  make  all 
draftsmen  greater  masters  of  line,  and  all  painters  —  to  the 
humblest  house  painter  —  greater  masters  of  color. 


IX 


ESORAGOTO 

I^T  EITHER  the  Cubists  nor  Kandinsky  troubled  a  very 
distinguished  Japanese  expert  who  spent  many  days  at 
the  exhibition. 

“  The  principles  of  all  this  are  old,  very  old,  in  Japan.” 

He  was  far  more  interested  in  the  extreme  drawings  and 
paintings  than  in  the  more  academic.  Pointing  to  a  drawing 
that  seemed  scarce  more  than  a  few  careless  strokes,  he 
said.  That  is  quite  in  the  spirit  of  the  best  Japanese  art.” 

Of  the  “King  and  Queen”  he  said,  “I  like  that  very 
much,”  and  so  on,  passing  from  one  Cubist  picture  to  an¬ 
other,  commenting  upon  each  seriously  and  intelligently. 

<$><$><$► 

To  either  copy  or  be  in  the  slightest  degree  hampered 
by  nature  is  a  mark  of  inferiority  in  Chinese  and  Japanese 
art. 

The  very  abstract  art  of  the  Orient  has  its  elaborate 
conventions,  but  those  conventions  are  all  in  the  direction  of 
pure  art,  whereas  the  conventions  of  our  art  (music  always 
excepted)  are  all  in  the  direction  of  imitation. 

It  was  a  theory  of  the  great  Chinese  teacher,  Chinanpin,  and  par¬ 
ticularly  enforced  by  him,  that  trees,  plants,  and  grasses  take  the  form 
of  a  circle,  called  in  art  Rin  kan;  or  a  semi-circle,  Han  kan;  or  an 
aggregation  of  half  circles,  called  fish-scales,  Gyo  sin ;  or  a  modifica¬ 
tion  of  these  latter,  called  moving  fish-scales,  Go  sin  Katsu* 

<§>  <$>  <$> 

In  regard  to  painting  moving  waters,  whether  deep  or  shallow, 
in  rivers  or  brooks,  bays  or  oceans,  Chinanpin  declared  it  was  impos¬ 
sible  for  the  eye  to  seize  their  exact  forms  because  they  are  ever 
changing  and  have  no  fixed,  definite  shape;  therefore,  they  cannot 

*  "  On  the  Laws  of  Japanese  Painting,”  by  Bowie,  p.  55. 

147 


148  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


be  sketched  satisfactorily;  yet,  as  moving  water  must  be  represented 
in  painting,  it  should  be  long  and  minutely  contemplated  by  the 
artist  and  its  general  character  —  whether  leaping  in  the  brook,  flow¬ 
ing  in  the  river,  roaring  in  the  cataract,  surging  in  the  ocean  or 
lapping  the  shore  —  observed  and  reflected  upon,  and  after  the  eye 
and  the  memory  are  both  sufficiently  trained  and  the  very  soul  of 
the  artist  is  saturated,  as  it  were,  with  this  one  subject,  and  he  feels 
his  whole  being  calm  and  composed,  he  should  retire  to  the  privacy  of 
his  studio  and  with  the  early  morning  sun  to  gladden  his  spirit  there 
attempt  to  reproduce  the  movement  of  the  flow;  not  by  copying 
■what  he  has  seen,  for  the  effect  would  be  stiff  and  wooden,  but  by 
symbolizing  according  to  certain  laws  what  he  feels  and  remembers. 

<S>  <S>  <$> 

It  begins  to  be  plain  why  the  Japanese  expert  was  pro¬ 
foundly  interested  in  the  modern  pictures  and  drawings. 

❖  <$><$> 

One  of  the  most  important  principles  in  the  art  of  Japanese 
painting  —  indeed  a  fundamental  and  entirely  distinctive  character¬ 
istic —  is  that  called  living  movement,  sei  do,  or  Kokoro  machi,  it 
being,  so  to  say,  the  transfusion  into  the  work  of  the  felt  nature  of 
the  thing  to  be  painted  by  the  artist.  Whatever  the  subject  to  be 
translated  —  whether  river  or  tree,  rock  or  mountain,  bird  or  flower, 
fish  or  animal  —  the  artist  at  the  moment  of  painting  it  must  feel 
its  very  nature,  which,  by  the  magic  of  his  art,  he  transfers  into 
his  work  to  remain  forever,  affecting  all  who  see  it  with  the  same 
sensations  he  experienced  when  executing  it. 

This  is  not  an  imaginary  principle,  but  a  strictly  enforced  law 
of  Japanese  painting.  The  student  is  insistently  admonished  to  ob¬ 
serve  it.  Should  his  subject  be  a  tree  he  is  urged  when  painting  it 
to  feel  the  strength  which  shoots  through  the  branches  and  sustains 
the  limbs;  or  if  a  flower  to  try  to  feel  the  grace  with  which  it  expands 
or  bows  its  blossoms.  Indeed,  nothing  is  more  constantly  urged  upon 
his  attention  than  this  great  underlying  principle  that  it  is  impossible 
to  express  in  art  what  one  does  not  first  feel. 

<§>§><$> 

“  Waga  kokoro  waga  te  woyaku 
Waga  te  waga  kokoro  ni  ozuru.” 

Our  spirit  must  make  our  hand  its  servitor; 

Our  hand  must  respond  to  each  behest  of  our  spirit. 


;!jpg|pife 


gi® 


ESORAGOTO 


149 


The  Japanese  artist  is  taught  that  even  to  the  placing  of  a  dot 
in  the  eyeball  of  a  tiger,  he  must  first  feel  the  savage,  cruel,  feline 
character  of  the  beast,  and  only  under  such  influence  should  he  apply 
the  brush.  If  he  paint  a  storm  he  must  at  the  moment  realize  passing 
over  him  the  very  tornado  which  tears  up  trees  from  their  roots  and 
houses  from  their  foundations.  Should  he  depict  the  seacoast  with  its 
cliffs  and  moving  waters,  at  the  moment  of  putting  the  wave-bound 
rocks  into  the  picture  he  must  feel  that  they  are  being  placed  there 
to  resist  the  fiercest  movement  of  the  ocean,  while  to  the  waves 
in  turn  he  must  give  an  irresistible  power  to  carry  all  before  them. 
Thus,  by  this  sentiment  called  living  movement  (sei  do),  reality  is 
imparted  to  the  inanimate  object.  This  is  one  of  the  marvelous 
secrets  of  Japanese  painting  handed  down  from  the  great  Chinese 
painters  and  based  on  psychological  principles  —  matter  responsive 
to  mind.* 

<S>  <$>  <$> 

In  the  light  of  the  foregoing,  one  begins  to  understand 
why  Winslow  Homer  painted  such  wonderful  realizations 
of  the  sea  and  rocky  coasts  —  he  lived  removed  from  men, 
his  most  intimate  friends  the  rocks  and  waves. 

One  also  begins  to  understand  how  painters  who  show 
great  strength  and  promise  in  their  earlier  works,  based  upon 
surroundings  they  know,  lose  both  strength  and  promise 
when,  flushed  by  prosperity  or  attracted  by  tinsel  and  glitter, 
they  establish  their  studios  in  cities  and  still  try  to  paint 
the  sea  or  the  country. 

<$><$><$> 


Japanese  artists  are  not  bound  down  to  the  literal  presentation 
of  things  seen.  They  have  a  canon,  called  esoragoto,  which  literally 
means  an  invented  picture,  or  a  picture  into  which  certain  fictions 
are  painted. 

Every  painting  to  be  effective  must  be  esoragoto;  that  is  there 
must  enter  therein  certain  artistic  liberties.  It  should  aim  not  so 
much  to  reproduce  the  exact  thing  as  its  sentiment,  called  kokoro 
mochi ,  which  is  the  moving  spirit  of  the  scene;  it  must  not  be  a 
facsimile. 

<$>  <s>  <e> 

*  “  On  the  Basis  of  Japanese  Painting,”  Bowie,  pp.  77-79. 


150  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


It  is  related  that  Okubo  Shibutsu,  famous  for  painting  bamboo, 
was  requested  to  execute  a  kakemono  representing  a  bamboo  forest. 
Consenting,  he  painted  with  all  his  well-known  skill  a  picture  in 
which  the  entire  bamboo  grove  was  in  red.  The  patron  upon  its 
receipt  marveled  at  the  extraordinary  skill  with  which  the  painting 
had  been  executed,  and,  repairing  to  the  artist’s  residence,  he  said: 

“Master,  I  have  come  to  thank  you  for  the  picture;  but,  excuse 
me,  you  have  painted  the  bamboo  red.” 

“Well,”  cried  the  master,  “in  what  color  would  you  desire  it?” 

“  In  black,  of  course,”  replied  the  patron. 

“And  who,”  answered  the  artist,  “ever  saw  a  black-leaved 
bamboo?  ” 

This  story  well  illustrates  esoragoto.  The  Japanese  are  so  accus¬ 
tomed  to  associate  true  color  with  what  the  sumi  [the  black  so  com¬ 
monly  used  in  Japan]  stands  for,  that  not  only  is  fiction  in  this 
respect  permissible  but  actually  missed  when  not  employed. 

<$>  <S>  <3> 

Esoragoto  is  a  very  good  word  for  the  Post-Impressionists 
to  appropriate.  We  have  no  word  in  English  and  I  know  of 
none  in  French  that  is  anywhere  near  its  equivalent. 

Impressionism  is  painting  with  a  minimum  of  esoragoto; 
Post-Impressionism  is  painting  with  a  maximum  of  esoragoto. 

The  pendulum  in  art  and  literature  swings  from  less 
esoragoto  to  more  —  from  realistic  transcription  with  a 
minimum  of  self,  to  idealistic  compositions  with  a  maximum 

of  self.  .  .  . 

<$>  <3>  <$> 

All  the  great  art  of  the  world  is  esoragoto. 

The  greatest  paintings  in  the  world  are  indoor  not  out¬ 
door  paintings  —  in-self  not  out-self. 

All  the  great  Italian  paintings  and  frescoes  are  creations 
of  the  imagination.  The  portraits  of  Velasquez,  Rembrandt, 
Hals  are  esoragoto.  They  are  the  sitters  idealized  by  the 
genius  of  the  artists.  They  are  far  removed  from  photo¬ 
graphic  realism. 

Why  are  the  portraits  of  the  same  man  or  woman  painted 
by  different  artists  so  unlike?  Because  each  is  more  or  less 


ESORAGOTO  151 

esoragoto — more  or  less  the  reflection  of  the  painter  rather 
than  the  sitter. 

<$><$><$> 

For  a  long  time  we  have  been  so  influenced  by  the 
theories  of  the  Impressionists,  the  realists,  the  plein-air  school, 
that  we  resent  it  when  an  artist  says,  “  I  will  paint  some¬ 
thing  more  beautiful  than  nature;  I  will  paint  nature  herself 
more  beautiful  than  she  is.  I  will  paint  the  spirit  of  nature. 
I  will  paint  trees  that  do  not  look  like  trees,  but  will  give 
you  the  feeling,  the  dignity,  the  power  of  trees.  I  will  paint 
the  earth,  not  as  it  looks,  but  in  a  way  that  will  give  you 
an  impression  of  its  fertility  and  fecundity.  I  will  paint 
you  flowers,  not  by  faithfully  copying  them  as  they  are  in 
the  field,  but  as  they  bloom  and  blossom  in  your  memory. 
I  will  paint  you  men  and  women,  not  as  you  see  them  on  the 
street  and  in  the  drawing  room  —  superficial  resemblances 
—  but  as  they  really  are  to  you  and  to  me,  human  beings  the 
true  significance  of  which  is  not  expressed  in  the  drooping 
of  a  moustache,  the  lifting  of  an  eyebrow.  I  will  paint  them 
in  black  or  brown  or  red  or  blue,  or  in  gold  or  bronze,  as 
does  the  sculptor;  I  will  paint  them  in  a  way  so  strange 
you  have  never  seen  the  like  before,  but  I  will  make  you 
feel  their  humanity.” 

<$><$><$> 

To  illustrate  the  arbitrary  manner  which  the  great  oriental 
artists  use  colors  to  produce  harmonious  results  irrespective 
of  nature,  I  once  used  a  number  of  old  Chinese  paintings 
borrowed  from  a  famous  collection  —  in  each  of  which  the 
hair  of  the  figures  was  painted  blue. 

And  why  not?  Black,  brown,  or  flaxen  would  not  have 
given  the  effect  the  painter  desired,  any  more  than  C,  D,  or 
E  would  take  the  place  of  F  in  a  chord. 

The  Oriental  needs  a  note  of  blue  and  so  paints  the  hair 


152  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


blue.  And  when  one  comes  to  think  of  it,  next  to  some 
marvelous  shades  of  red,  blue  hair  is  far  more  positive  and 
picturesque  than  gray,  or  yellow,  or  any  black  but  a  glossy 
raven. 

We  never  think  of  resenting  a  terra  cotta  horse  in  a  print 
by  Hokusai;  it  does  not  disturb  us  because  we  instinctively 
recognize  the  fact  that  a  strong  note  of  terra  cotta  is  needed 
precisely  where  it  is  used  —  a  terra  cotta  horse,  or  rock,  or 
man,  it  matters  not. 

<?><$><$> 

Human  faces  of  gold,  silver,  bronze,  even  marble  —  that 
ugliest  of  all  stones,  in  its  natural  state  —  do  not  worry  us. 

In  fact  when  we  look  at  marble  sculpture  we  are  in  the 
attitude  of  the  man  who  ordered  the  painting  of  the  bamboo 
forest.  We  are  so  accustomed  to  seeing  ghostly  white  marble 
busts  and  statues  we  actually  resent  it  if  the  sculptor  stains 
or  colors  the  marble  not  to  make  it  more  realistic,  but  to 
make  it  more  beautiful. 

Yet  all  Greek  sculpture  was  painted  or  treated  with  wax 
in  such  a  manner  the  harshness  of  the  stone  was  modified.. 
The  sensitive  vision  of  the  Greeks  could  not  tolerate  the 
cold,  hard  whiteness. 

Much  of  our  enjoyment  of  ancient  sculpture  is  due  to  its 
discoloration,  to  what  time  and  the  elements  have  done  to  its 
surfaces. 

<$>  <S>  ^ 

Our  appreciation  of  art  will  never  be  true  until  we  can 
gaze  with  unprejudiced  eye  upon  any  combination  of  lines 
and  colors  the  artist  chooses  to  use. 

So  long  as  we  demand  that  he  shall  use  only  those  com¬ 
binations  we  are  accustomed  to,  just  so  long  do  we  by  our 
attitude  check  his  development. 

The  average  man  is  bewildered  by  the  new  and  the 


ESORAGOTO 


153 


strange ;  he  is  bewildered  by  new  cities,  new  countries,  new 
peoples,  new  pictures,  new  sculpture,  new  architecture,  new 
music,  new  books,  new  ideas  —  because  he  is  not  used  to 
them  and  does  not  understand  them;  he  does  not  know 
whether  to  like  them  or  not  so  he  condemns  them  in  order 
to  make  a  pretense  of  knowing. 

❖  <$><$> 

The  rare  man  is  not  bewildered  by  the  new  and  the 
strange  at  home  or  abroad,  in  art  or  life.  He  is  interested 
and  at  once  sets  about  learning  and  comprehending.  He 
loves  the  new  and  the  strange  instinctively  because  they  excite 
his  curiosity  and  pique  his  intelligence.  He  loves  to  meet  the 
new  and  the  strange  as  an  archeologist  loves  to  find  an  in¬ 
scription  in  an  unknown  tongue  —  for  the  hidden  significance. 

<$><$><$> 

This  chapter  may  be  concluded  appropriately  by  four 
warnings  which  Chinese  wisdom  pours  into  the  ears  of  art 
students.  Many  of  the  modern  painters  should  ponder  these 
precepts. 

“Ja,  Kan,  Zoku,  Rai.” 

“  Ja  refers  to  attempted  originality  in  a  painting  without 
the  ability  to  give  it  character,  departing  from  all  law  to 
produce  something  not  reducible  to  any  law  or  principle. 

“Kan  is  producing  only  superficial  pleasing  effect  with¬ 
out  any  power  in  the  brush  stroke  —  a  characterless  painting, 
to  charm  only  the  ignorant. 

“  Zoku  refers  to  the  fault  of  painting  from  a  mercenary 
motive  only  —  thinking  of  money  instead  of  art. 

“  Rai  is  the  base  imitation  of  or  copying  or  cribbing  from 
others.” 


X 


UGLINESS 

^1  *  HE  modern  movement  is  in  the  direction  of  greater 
freedom,  freedom  to  produce  beautiful  things  in  one’s 
own  way. 

Unhappily  many  of  the  things  produced  are  not  beautiful 

now  —  not  nearly  so  dignified  and  beautiful  as  thousands 
upon  thousands  of  old  pictures. 

One’s  first  impression  on  entering  an  exhibition  of  ex¬ 
treme  modern  works  is  not  an  impression  of  beauty  but  of 

ugliness. 

There  is  no  denying  that,  and  it  takes  even  the  most 
impartial  and  sympathetic  observer  a  long  time  to  pick  out 
the  things  which  are  fine  in  color  and  line  and  to  readjust  his 
notions  of  beauty. 

Many  of  the  pictures  are  brutal  and  most  of  them  are 
crude,  but  while  the  first  impression  may  be  one  of  ugliness 
it  is  more,  it  is  one  of  exceeding  vitality. 

There  is  nothing  musty  about  the  modems,  their  can¬ 
vases  are  so  alive  they  scream. 

As  compared  with  the  subdued  tones  of  an  academic 
exhibition  a  modern  seems  like  a  babel  of  discordant  sounds, 
but  the  confusion  is  more  apparent  than  real.  By  going 
day  after  day  one  gets  accustomed  to  the  newness,  the 
freshness,  the  strangeness  of  it  all  and  begins  to  under¬ 
stand  and  appreciate  the  one  big,  dominant  note — vitality. 

<$><$><$> 

Then,  too,  when  we  say  the  first  —  and  last  for  most 
people  —  impression  is  one  of  ugliness,  we  must  not  forget 

154 


UGLINESS 


155 


that  our  appreciations  are  primarily  the  result  of  environ¬ 
ment  and  habit,  and  only  secondarily,  and  with  comparatively 
few,  the  result  of  intelligent  discipline. 

We  like  what  we  are  accustomed  to  and  dislike  what  we 
are  not  accustomed  to.  Few  take  the  pains  to  discipline 
their  likes  and  dislikes. 

<e>  <$>  <$> 

Seventy  years  ago  public  and  critics  thought  Turner  ugly 
in  the  extreme. 

Sixty  years  ago  public  and  critics  thought  Millet  ugly 
in  the  extreme. 

Fifty  years  ago  public  and  critics  thought  Manet  ugly 
in  the  extreme. 

Forty  years  ago  public  and  critics  thought  Monet  ugly 
in  the  extreme. 

Thirty  years  ago  public  and  critics  thought  Cezanne  ugly 
in  the  extreme. 

Twenty  years  ago  public  and  critics  thought  Gauguin 
ugly  in  the  extreme. 

Ten  years  ago  public  and  critics  thought  VanGogh  ugly 
in  the  extreme. 

Today  public  and  critics  think  the  Cubists  and  nearly  all 
the  new  men  ugly  in  the  extreme. 

Each  decade  has  its  men  in  art,  music,  science,  literature 
whose  works  at  first  seem  ugly,  only  to  win  out  in  the  long 
run. 

Hence  the  danger  in  pronouncing  this  or  that  painting 
ugly;  it  may  seem  grotesque  and  hideous  today;  thirty  years 
hence  it  may  command  thousands  from  men  and  museums 
eager  to  possess  it.  That  has  been  the  history  of  many 
great  paintings. 

<♦><$><$> 

Still  we  do  have  our  notions  regarding  the  ugly  and  the 


156  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


beautiful,  and  while  our  notions  change  and  develop  year 
by  year  they  naturally  control  at  each  given  moment;  that 
is,  we  cannot  say  we  think  a  picture  or  a  piece  of  music  is 
beautiful  today  because  the  chances  are  we  will  think  it 
beautiful  a  dozen  years  hence,  any  more  than  we  can  say 
we  like  olives  on  first  tasting  them,  simply  because  most 
people  come  to  like  them  after  a  time. 

To  the  London  public  in  1840  the  pictures  of  Turner 
were  absurd. 

To  the  Paris  public  in  1874  the  pictures  of  the  Impres¬ 
sionists  were  ridiculous. 

To  the  New  York  public  in  1913  the  pictures  of  the 
Cubists  were  grotesque. 

These  several  publics  were  not  to  blame;  they  could  not 
help  their  impressions.  They  had  been  brought  up  on  very 
different  picture-food  and  did  not  like  the  taste  of  the  new. 

The  attitude  of  the  public  was  normal,  logical,  and  sane. 
If  the  people  had  received  the  new  men  with  wild  acclama¬ 
tions  of  joy  and  called  them  great  on  first  sight  it  would 
have  meant  such  instability  of  opinion  and  character  as  to 
render  the  homage  absolutely  worthless. 

In  a  sense,  tenacity  of  opinion  on  the  part  of  the  public 
is  the  salvation  of  art  as  well  as  of  morals;  it  is  essential 
to  substantial  progress. 

Therefore  the  everlasting  conflict  between  the  old  and 
the  new  is  a  normal  conflict;  the  clash  between  the  public 
and  new  art,  new  music,  new  thought  is  a  healthful  clash, 
because  the  fiercer  the  conflict  the  more  certain  that  what 
survives  will  be  worth  having. 

<$><$><$> 

The  only  excuse  for  an  ugly  picture  is  superb  technic  — 
and  even  then  the  excuse  is  not  a  very  good  one  for  the  same 
technic  should  paint  a  beautiful  thing. 


UGLINESS 


157 


There  were  plenty  of  ugly  pictures  in  the  exhibition; 
some  were  interesting  on  account  of  their  technic,  others 
were  without  any  excuse  at  all  —  just  ugly. 

A  great  painter  may  paint  things,  a  great  writer  may 
write  things  which  no  amount  of  good  painting  and  no 
amount  of  good  writing  can  excuse  —  there  are  plenty  of 
such  paintings  and  books  in  the  world. 

But  because  there  were  a  number  of  ugly  —  ugly  to  the 
extent  of  being  objectionable  — pictures  in  the  exhibition, 
that  should  not  and  does  not  detract  from  the  merits  of  men 
who  did  not  paint  them. 

An  ugly  work  is  a  comment  upon  him  who  produces  it 
and  upon  those  who  accept  it.  It  is  a  golden  opportunity, 
a  touchstone  to  those  who  reject  it. 

<$><$><$> 

There  is  a  great  deal  of  the  ugly  in  the  work  of  Matisse, 
mixed  with  a  great  deal  of  extraordinary  technic.  He  is  a 
good  man  to  study,  but  a  bad  man  to  imitate  —  for  that 
matter,  the  same,  in  a  profounder  sense,  may  be  said  of 
every  man  of  ability. 

Then,  too,  it  should  never  be  forgotten  that  refinement 
is  an  essential  element  in  all  great  art. 

<$>  3>  <S> 

The  supreme  justification  of  the  new  art  is  that  its  works 
shall  tend  toward  the  beautiful.  If  they  make  for  ugliness 
their  existence  is  without  rhyme  or  reason.  Many  of  the 
new  men  seem  to  forget  this. 

However,  even  the  ugly,  the  grotesque,  the  hideous  has 
its  use.  Any  art  may  become  so  smug,  so  complacent,  so 
conceited  that  it  requires  the  shock  of  the  ugly  to  stir  it  to 
new  life. 

After  Bouguereau,  Matisse  was  inevitable. 


158  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


However,  a  very  little  of  the  ugly  goes  a  long  ways,  a 
very  little  of  Matisse  at  his  worst  is  all  that  is  needed  as  an 
antidote  to  Bouguereau. 

Zola-like  fidelity  in  depicting  the  ugly  in  life  has  its  uses 

—  and  abuses.  .  .  . 

<$>$><$> 


It  is  easy  enough  to  paint  a  conglomeration  of  angles 
and  cubes,  but  it  will  be  as  hollow  and  meaningless  as  the 
pattern  of  an  oilcloth  unless  it  has  sincerity  behind  it. 

No  doubt  many  of  the  new  men  lack  sincerity.  Doubtless 
not  a  few  are  inspired  with  simply  the  desire  to  create  a 
sensation,  but  these  men  soon  betray  themselves. 

The  artist  may  not  succeed  in  making  his  meaning  clear, 
but  the  public  —  yes,  even  the  much  despised  public  —  will 
instinctively  feel  whether  there  is  some  meaning,  some  inten¬ 
tion  worth  finding  out. 

That  was  the  secret  of  the  success  of  the  Cubist  pictures. 
They  attracted  throngs  because  they  were  strange,  but  the 
throngs  would  never  have  gazed  as  they  did  unless  behind 
the  outward  strangeness  there  had  not  been  an  inward  seri¬ 
ousness  of  purpose. 

“  Those  fellows  are  trying  to  do  something,”  was  an 
expression  often  heard. 

<$><$><$> 


The  papers  would  say,  “They  are  simply  making  fun  of 
the  public,”  but  the  public,  generally  speaking,  did  not  feel 
that  way. 

A  goodly  section  of  the  public  made  fun  of  the  pictures, 
but  very  few  people  honestly  felt  the  pictures  made  fun  of 
the  public  —  if  anything  they  were  rather  too  serious. 

<$><$>$> 


To  return  to  the  proposition  that  a  Cubist  picture  —  being 
so  largely  esoragoto  —  must  be  well  painted. 


UGLINESS  159 

The  painter  of  scenes  and  things  is  helped  out  by  his 
subject. 

The  portrait  of  a  beautiful  woman  may  be  very  badly 
painted,  but  if  it  conveys  the  impression  of  a  beautiful  woman 
it  is  accepted. 

The  Cubist  who  tries  to  paint  his  impression  of  a  beautiful 
woman  has  no  likeness  to  help  him  out;  he  must  make  his 
painting  so  beautiful  in  itself  that  those  who  see  it  will, 
without  knowing  why,  get  some  of  the  enjoyment  from  the 
mere  composition  of  line  and  color  that  the  artist  received 
from  knowing  the  woman  who  inspired  the  picture. 

To  do  this  a  man  must  be  a  greater  master  of  line  and 
color,  a  greater  technician,  than  the  average  portrait  painter. 

❖  <$><$> 

Ask  the  average  portrait  painter  to  paint  a  composition 
of  line  and  color,  beautiful  in  itself  without  reference  to  any 
object,  and  not  one  in  a  hundred  can  do  it. 

The  average  portrait  painter  finds  his  compositions  of 
line  and  color  ready-made;  he  takes  them  as  they  come  to 
him.  He  has  little  practice  in  composing  for  himself. 

<$><§><$> 

However  disconcerting  the  exhibition  was  to  most  painters 
it  should  have  been  stimulating  to  decorators  and  interior 
furnishers. 

The  older  pictures  are  of  little  help  to  the  decorator.  On 
the  contrary  he  rather  dreads  their  presence  on  his  walls. 
A  room  may  be  quite  upset  by  a  strong  picture.  To  make 
the  Leyland  dining  room  harmonize  with  the  “  Princess  from 
the  Land  of  Porcelain  ”  ^A^histle^  painted  practically  every 
inch  of  walls  and  ceilings,  completely  covering  costly  wood¬ 
work  and  old  Spanish  leather. 

To  rightly  hold  a  Rembrandt  a  room  must  be  subdued  and 


160  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


rich  in  tone,  otherwise  the  picture  is  a  dead  weight.  The 
greater  the  picture,  the  more  completely  the  surroundings 
must  either  rise  to  it  or  be  completely  subordinated  to  it. 

It  is  not  so  with  the  more  abstract  Cubist  pictures;  they 
do  not  thrust  a  great  landscape  or  a  powerful  personality 
into  the  room;  they  are  not  intended  to  thrust  any  object 
upon  the  attention  of  the  visitor.  Intended  to  express  simply 
the  mood  or  emotion  of  the  painter,  they  are  unobtrusive, 
as  unobtrusive  as  a  pattern  of  the  wall  covering,  a  rug,  or  a 
tapestry;  in  effect  they  are  not  unlike  a  tapestry,  save  they 
are  essentially  modern  in  feeling,  and  therefore  fit  into  our 
modern  rooms  as  tapestries  —  and  often  rugs  —  do  not. 

<$><$><$> 

Imagine  the  editorial  room  of  a  live,  up-to-date  news¬ 
paper —  say  a  typical  yellow  journal  —  hung  with  Titians 
and  Rembrandts!  The  paper  would  be  paralyzed,  the  edito¬ 
rial  staff  would  be  depressed  by  the  dignity  and  the  sobriety, 
by  the  old-world  flavor. 

Whereas  a  lot  of  Cubist,  Futurist,  Orphist  pictures  would 
be  quite  in  keeping  with  modern  journalistic  methods,  and 
stimulating  in  the  extreme.  In  the  picturesque  language  of 
current  journalism,  they  would  be  “live  stuff.” 

$><$><$> 

It  is  worth  noting  in  passing  that  the  time  is  probably 
coming  when  about  as  many  pictures  will  be  bought  for 
offices  as  for  homes,  and  fewer  and  fewer  will  be  bought 
for  those  graveyards  of  art  — private  galleries. 

Why  should  men  buy  pictures  and  hang  them  where  they 
are  seldom  seen,  often  in  places  where  the  light  is  so  bad 
they  cannot  be  seen? 

Where  do  most  men  spend  most  of  their  time?  In  their 
places  of  business.  Then  why  not  make  their  places  of  busi¬ 
ness  attractive  and  livable? 


UGLINESS 


161 


Every  man  knows  how  relaxing  and  delightful  it  would 
be  if  in  the  midst  of  a  busy  afternoon  he  could  drop  business 
for  a  moment  and  read  an  interesting  book  or  listen  to  some 
good  music.  Well,  we  can’t  do  that;  it  takes  too  long  to  get 
into  a  book,  and  music  is  not  at  hand. 

But  we  can  turn  from  our  desks  and  in  a  second  lose 
ourselves  in  the  contemplation  of  a  beautiful  picture. 

<$><$><$> 

The  physician  covers  the  walls  of  his  office  with  prints 
of  such  pictures  as  Rembrandt’s  “  Lesson  in  Anatomy.”  Ugh ! 

The  lawyer  covers  the  walls  of  his  office  with  dusty  law¬ 
books.  Whew ! 

The  manufacturer  covers  the  walls  of  his  office  with 
prints  of  factories,  machinery,  goods,  etc.,  etc.  Shop!  Shop! 
Shop! 

No  relief  anywhere  for  man,  patient,  client,  or  customer. 

Tired  eyes  that  seek  rest  in  change  are  met  with  the  same 
old  story  —  reflections  of  the  daily  grind. 

Speaking  from  experience,  I  can  say  that  next  to  getting 
out  of  an  office  for  a  brief  respite,  the  contemplation  of  pic¬ 
tures  yields  the  greatest  rest,  actually  enabling  one  to  do 
more  work  per  day  with  less  fatigue. 

It  is  so  refreshing  to  get  up  from  one’s  desk  for  only  a 
few  moments  and  be  instantly  transported  far  away  on  the 
wings  of  the  imagination  of  a  painter. 

It  is  a  rest,  a  complete  rest,  for  the  tired  brain-cells,  to  lift 
one’s  eyes  from  one’s  work  and  gaze  at  a  picture  —  the  effect 
is  like  unto  that  of  distant  music  wafted  through  the  open 
window. 

Of  all  men  in  the  world,  the  busy  American  is  most  in 
need  of  pictures  on  the  walls  of  his  office  —  not  one  or  two, 


162  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


but  many.  The  busier  he  is,  the  more  he  needs;  his  walls 
should  be  a  blaze  of  color. 


<S>  <§> 


Most  of  our  bankers  and  corporation  magnates  spend 
large  sums  in  “  solid  mahogany  fittings.”  Their  offices 
resemble  old-fashioned  Pullman  sleepers.  Cost  is  the  one 
impressive  feature.  Woodwork,  furniture,  rugs,  everything 
to  the  inkstand  are  massive  and  —  oppressive.  Everything 
is  admirably  calculated  to  make  work  more  burdensome ; 
commercial  and  financial  life  more  sombre. 

Why  not  the  reverse  of  all  this?  Why  fit  up  an  office  so 
that  it  is  about  as  inviting  as  a  tomb? 

Why  not  make  it  so  attractive  that  a  man  will  look  for¬ 
ward  each  morning  to  entering  it?  Why  not  so  inviting 
that  friends  and  strangers  will  be  glad  to  visit  it? 

Why  should  an  office  be  a  place  where  no  one  goes 
except  for  business?  Why  should  not  men  say  to  one 
another,  “Come  in  a  minute;  I  have  a  new  picture  I  want 
to  show  you  ”  ?  .  . 


One  has  simply  to  enter  the  offices  and  school-rooms  of 
any  art  institute  to  realize  the  hollowness  of  the  pretense 
of  love  for  the  beautiful.  Infinite  pains  are  taken  to  arrange 
the  pictures  and  sculpture  in  the  galleries;  once  out  of  the 
galleries,  and  all  feeling  of  art  disappears;  the  offices  and 
school-rooms  are  more  sordid,  barren,  and  uninviting  than 
most  shops  and  factories. 

In  other  words,  the  very  men  who  are  supposed  to  be 
devoting  their  lives  to  the  service  of  art,  to  making  the  world 
more  beautiful,  who  promote  exhibitions  and  urge  people  to 
buy  pictures,  are  content  to  pass  all  their  working  lives 
amidst  surroundings  unrelieved  by  a  single  picture,  un¬ 
adorned  by  a  single  fresco. 


UGLINESS 


163 


There  is  a  great  opportunity  for  missionary  work  in  this 
direction.  Why  should  not  the  many  organizations  such  as 
“Friends  of  American  Art,”  etc.,  whose  disinterested  pur¬ 
pose  is  to  advance  art,  organize  a  movement  the  object  of 
which  will  be  to  place,  by  loaning  if  necessary,  pictures  and 
small  sculpture  in  the  offices  and  business  haunts  of  the  busy 
American  man,  and  so  create  a  new  demand  for  beautiful 
things? 

Once  fill  a  man’s  office  with  pictures,  he  will  be  reluctant 
to  let  them  go. 


XI 


FUTURISM 

'TpHERE  were  no  Futurist  pictures  in  the  exhibition,  but 
there  were  several  more  or  less  influenced  by  Futurism, 
notably  the  “Nude  Descending  the  Stairs,”  by  Duchamp. 

In  many  respects  this  was  the  least  satisfactory  of 
his  pictures,  because  it  is  neither  good  Cubism  nor  good 
Futurism. 

It  is  easy  to  distinguish  a  figure  drawn  in  more  or  less 
Cubist  fashion,  at  the  right  —  the  spectator’s  right  —  of  the 
confused  mass  of  lines ;  it  is  quite  easy,  if  the  balance  of  the 
picture  be  covered. 

The  confused  mass  is  just  so  many  overlapping  figures 
coming  down  the  stairs.  As  a  child  exclaimed  one  day, 
“Why,  I  see  them;  there’s  one  on  every  step.”  The  Cubist 
drawing  did  not  bother  the  child. 


<$><$><$> 

A  sympathetic  writer  says  of  the  picture : 

M.  Duchamp  says  in  effect  something  like  this:  “If  you  paint  a 
girl  coming  downstairs,  on  any  one  step  you  will  not  show  her  mov¬ 
ing.  If  you  paint  a  girl  on  every  step,  like  Burne-Jones  with  the 
‘  Golden  Stair,’  you  have  a  crowd  and  still  no  movement.  But  if  you 
get  the  forms  down  to  simplest  and  most  essential,  just  swaying 
shoulders  and  hip  and  knee,  bent  head  and  springy  sole  —  and  then 
show  them  on  every  step  and  between  all  the  steps,  passing  and 
always  passing  one  into  the  next,  you  give  the  sense  of  movement, 
as  with  a  run  of  arpeggios  on  the  harp  or  a  cadenza  on  the  violin. 
You  and  your  friends  don’t  feel  the  movement  —  too  bad,  my  friends 
and  I  do.”  And  pure  movement  is  what,  after  all,  here  was  sought. 

Pure  movement,  it  will  hardly  be  questioned,  these  men  can  give. 

164 


BALLA 

Dog  and  Person  in  Movement 


FUTURISM 


165 


Picabia  makes  the  lines  in  his  “  Dance  at  the  Spring  ”  leap  and 
swing  and  flicker  like  a  fiddler’s  bow.  If  he  and  others  want,  when 
they  choose,  to  abandon  the  last  pretense  of  representation  and  con¬ 
vey  directly  to  you  the  way  they  feel  mass  and  motion,  as  music 
conveys  inner  experience  always,  who  is  to  stop  them? 


<$>  <$> 

Futurism  had  its  beginning  in  Italy  a  few  years  ago.  The 
first  exhibition  in  Paris  was  held  in  February,  igi2.  One  of 
its  fundamental  notions  in  painting  is  a  certain  theory  re¬ 
garding  the  painting  of  motion.  It  is  that  in  order  rightly, 
scientifically,  to  indicate  motion  on  a  canvas  it  is  not  suffi¬ 
cient  to  paint  the  figure  of  a  man  in  an  attitude  of  walking, 
but  a  series  of  more  or  less  clearly  outlined  figures  must  be 
shown  overlapping,  a  sort  of  cinematograph  effect;  very 
much  as  every  painter  shows  a  blur  of  spokes  to  indicate  a 
wheel  turning,  if  an  individual  is  in  motion  there  must  be  a 
blur  of  many  overlapping  individuals.  (See  the  half-tone  of 
the  girl  with  the  dog.) 

The  theory  is  interesting,  it  is  based  on  recognized  optical 
conditions,  and  no  doubt  the  experiments  will  have  their 
value.  Some  very  interesting  results  have  been  obtained 
in  photography  already. 

<$>  <$>  <e> 

The  program  of  the  Futurists  is,  however,  far  more 
ambitious  than  the  mere  painting  of  motion  effects.  They 
have  issued  the  following  formal  “  Manifestoes  ” : 

1.  “Manifesto  of  Futurism,”  February,  1909;  written  by 
F.  T.  Marinetti.* 

2.  “  Manifesto  of  Futurist  Painters,”  April,  1910. 

*  Signor  Marinetti  is  the  founder  of  the  school;  he  is  not  a  painter, 
but  a  writer,  editor  of  “  Poesia.”  He  is  a  young  man  and  is  followed 
by  a  small  band  of  young  enthusiastic  writers,  poets,  musicians,  paint¬ 
ers,  sculptors,  whose  innovations  strike  even  the  cubists  as  wild 
extravagances.  In  fact,  Futurism  and  Cubism  have  very  little  in  com¬ 
mon  except  innovation;  both  are  revolutionary  but  otherwise  diamet¬ 
rically  opposed  in  many  of  their  aims  and  theories. 


166 


CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


3.  “Manifesto  of  Futurist  Musicians,”  May,  1911. 

4.  “  Manifesto  of  the  Futurist  Woman,”  March,  1912. 

5.  “  Manifesto  of  Futurist  Sculpture,”  April,  1912. 

6.  “  Manifesto  of  the  Technic  of  Futurist  Literature,” 
May,  1912.  Supplement  to  same,  August,  1912. 

And  every  few  months  new  declarations  of  faith  are  issued 
in  Milan,  each,  if  possible,  more  violent  and  extravagant  than 
its  forerunner. 

If  the  public  looked  upon  the  Cubist  pictures  as  “crazy,” 
what  would  it  think  of  these  manifestoes  if  printed  in  English 
and  scattered  broadcast? 

The  work  of  madmen! 

So  many  madmen  and  visionaries  have  influenced  the 
world  by  their  utterances  that  we  must  not  turn  a  deaf  ear. 

<$>  <e>  <e> 

The  Futurists  are  the  anarchists  of  the  art  and  literary 
world. 

The  Cubists,  Orphists,  and  other  extreme  moderns  all 
reason  from  the  past;  the  Futurists  would  break  with  the 
past  entirely  —  as  if  it  were  possible! 

All  who  do  not  agree  with  them  are  Pass-ists,  and  every 
form  of  art  and  literature  up  to  Futurism  belongs  to  Pass-ism, 
and  is  therefore  condemned. 

<$>$><$> 

There  is  much  in  Futurism  that  is  repellant,  just  as  there 
is  much  in  Anarchism  that  is  repellant. 

When  men  push  their  opposition  to  established  order  to 
extremes,  their  hatred  of  the  traditional  and  conventional  is 
such  they  indulge  in  wild  and  foolish  excesses;  they  even 
defy  law  and  order  and  decency,  and  require  curbing. 

<$><$><$> 

The  unprejudiced  reader  will  find  a  great  deal  that  is 


FUTURISM  167 

suggestive  in  some  of  these  Futurist  declarations  mixed  with 
much  that  is  philosophically  and  ethically  unsound. 

Take,  for  instance,  some  of  the  propositions  regarding  the 
technic  of  the  literature  of  the  future: 

1.  Use  only  the  infinite  form  of  the  verb,  because  only 
the  infinite  mood  gives  the  sense  of  the  continuity  of  life. 

2.  Abolish  the  use  of  the  adjective  so  that  the  noun 
standing  alone  may  speak  for  itself  with  all  its  force.  The 
adjective  implies  modification,  an  arrest  of  judgment,  medi¬ 
tation,  and  is,  therefore,  opposed  to  the  human  vision  dynamic, 
to  the  force  and  energetic  flow  of  human  thought. 

3.  Abolish  the  adverb,  which  is  a  superfluous  refinement, 
a  fastidious  hampering  of  human  expression. 

4.  New  punctuation:  Adjectives  and  adverbs  and  con¬ 
junctive  phrases  being  suppressed,  punctuation  goes  with 
them  naturally,  in  the  varied  continuity  of  a  living  style 
which  creates  itself  without  the  use  of  absurd  commas  and 
periods.  To  accentuate  certain  movements  and  indicate 
their  directions,  certain  mathematical  and  unusual  signs 
will  be  used. 

5.  Abolish  the  “  I  ”  from  literature,  that  is  to  say, 
psychology;  replace  the  “I,”  the  ego,  by  the  matter,  the 
essence  of  which  must  be  appreciated  by  intuitions.  Hereto¬ 
fore  the  matter,  the  real  substance  of  a  book  or  a  poem,  has 
been  obscured  by  the  intervention  of  the  ego  of  the  writer, 
by  the  persistent  “I”  of  the  author,  who  is  too  much  pre¬ 
occupied  with  himself  and  filled  with  prejudices  and  conceits 
in  his  own  supreme  wisdom.  In  short,  writers  use  the  sub¬ 
jects  of  the  works  as  vehicles  to  exploit  themselves. 

(Here  the  Futurists  certainly  put  their  finger  on  one  of 
the  weak  spots  in  literature.) 

6.  Revolution  in  typographical  appearance:  Suppress  the 
ornaments,  fancy  initials,  &c.,  &c.,  of  the  presented  printed 


168  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


page,  which  impede  rather  than  assist  the  natural  flow  of 
expression.  “We  will  employ  on  the  same  page  three  or 
four  inks  of  different  colors,  and  twenty  different  characters, 
if  necessary:  for  example,  italics  to  express  rapid  sensations; 
capitals  for  violent;  &c.,  &c.  New  conception  of  the  graphic 
printed  page.”  <»  <*> 

All  of  which  sounds  wildly  extravagant,  but  in  sum  and 
substance  it  simply  means  the  death  of  the,  let  us  say,  Henry 
James  style  and  the  apotheosis  of  the  front  page  of  the 
modern  sensational  journal. 

And  is  it  not  true  that  the  painfully  involved  and  bore- 
some  style  of  Henry  James  —  the  adjectival  and  adverbial 
style,  the  style  of  endless  qualifications,  the  assertion  and 
amplification  of  the  “ego”  style  —  is  rapidly  becoming  obso¬ 
lete  in  fiction  as  it  has  long  been  obsolete  in  American 
journalism? 

And  is  it  not  true  that  the  terse,  the  substantive,  the 
journalistic  style,  together  with  the  printed  page  in  many 
colors  and  many  types,  is  gaining  vogue? 

In  even  the  matter  of  punctuation  the  painstaking  use  of 
the  comma  and  the  semicolon  has  yielded  to  the  free  use 
of  the  dash.  Only  a  short  time  ago  there  appeared  a  lamen¬ 
tation  by  a  well-known  writer  over  the  use  of  the  dash  in 
dialogue.  He  counted  an  unbelievable  number  on  one  page 
of  a  popular  magazine,  each  of  which,  he  thought,  should 
have  been  replaced  by  one  of  the  more  orthodox  signs. 

But  the  orthodox  signs  are  too  slow.  Modern  conversa¬ 
tion  does  not  move  in  studied  phrases  and  rounded  periods; 
its  sign  is  the  dash,  because  the  dash  either  breaks  the  thought 
abruptly  or  carries  it  over  into  the  words  of  the  next  speaker. 

<§►<$><§> 

Furthermore,  before  leaving  the  subject,  it  should  be 


FUTURISM 


169 


noted  that  there  is  coming  over  our  literature  a  profound, 
a  radical  change,  a  change  in  the  direction  of  terser,  more 
forcible  expression;  a  change  in  the  direction  of  the  elimina¬ 
tion  of  superfluous  words,  of  condensation,  to  the  end  that  the 
imagination  and  intelligence  of  the  reader  will  be  called  more 
and  more  into  play. 

It  is  conceivable  that  the  reading  public  may  become  so 
intelligent  and  so  keenly  sensitive  that  one  word  will  suffice 
to  convey  a  wealth  of  information  or  suggestion  where  a  page 
is  now  necessary. 

Certain  it  is,  if  mankind  is  progressing  at  all,  it  is  pro¬ 
gressing  in  that  direction. 

<$><$><$> 


The  rise  of  the  printed  drama  means  the  fall  of  the 
descriptive  novel. 

A  few  years  ago  no  American  publisher  would  risk  the 
printing  of  a  play;  now  every  play  of  any  merit  and  many 
of  no  merit  are  issued  in  book  form. 

The  novelist  devotes  two-thirds  of  his  book  to  descrip¬ 
tions  of  persons  and  places,  and  most  of  the  remaining  third 
to  banal  psychological  analysis  and  comment.  He  leaves 
little  to  the  imagination  of  the  reader,  who  is  told  the  color 
of  the  heroine’s  eyes  and  hair,  the  number  of  her  dimples, 
the  length  of  her  smile,  the  shape  of  her  teeth,  her  make  of 
face  powder,  together  with  endless  references  to  her  hats, 
gowns,  shoes,  parasols,  etc.,  etc. 

Usually  the  novelist  has  some  young  woman  acquaint¬ 
ance  in  mind,  and  he  literally  forces  the  woman  he  likes  upon 
the  reader,  who  may  be  in  love  with  an  entirely  different 
type,  and  who,  if  left  to  himself,  would  find  the  girl  he  likes 
in  the  pages  of  the  story. 

The  dramatist  does  nothing  of  the  kind.  “  Mary  Smith, 


170  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


age  about  twenty,”  suffices  for  him.  Shakespeare  gives  no 
more  than  the  name. 

As  for  description  of  places,  “a  room,”  or  “an  office,” 
“  a  wood,”  “  a  garden,”  answers  every  purpose. 

Managers  and  players  have  no  trouble  in  building  up 
both  scenes  and  characters;  the  less  “directions,”  the  more 
room  for  individual  initiative. 

Nor  is  the  reader  of  a  play  troubled  by  entire  absence  of 
description  and  “  directions.”  His  imagination  supplements 
the  dramatist’s,  and  he  creates  heroes  and  heroines  to  please 
himself. 

That  psychological  analysis  is  not  only  not  essential  to 
the  psychological  novel,  but  positively  detrimental,  is  demon¬ 
strated  by  the  entire  absence  of  such  analysis  in  so  profound 
a  psychological  study  as  Hamlet.  Paul  Bourget  is  as  obsolete 
as  Henry  James. 

<$>  <$>  <$> 

Bernard  Shaw  is  the  one  conspicuous  reactionary.  He 
still  exploits  the  ego,  and  writes  as  if  his  readers  were  fools  — 
perhaps  they  are. 

<$>  <$>  <£ 

The  popularity  of  the  cinematograph  lies  not  in  the  cheap¬ 
ness  of  the  entertainment,  nor  in  its  novelty,  which  wore  off 

long  ago,  but  in  the  fact  that  it  is  without  words  and  each 

onlooker  enjoys  his  own  interpretation;  from  child  to  old 
man,  every  one  in  the  audience  is  his  own  playwright ,  supply¬ 
ing  his  own  dialogue  as  the  scenes  flicker  on  the  curtain. 

The  best  of  modern  plays  leave  much  to  the  imagination 
of  the  audience.  Words  and  bits  of  business  absolutely 
necessary  thirty  years  ago  are  considered  childishly  obvious 
nowadays,  as  is  amply  demonstrated  in  revivals  of  old  plays. 

Apparently  the  development  is  toward  more  action  and 
less  dialogue  —  more  cinematograph,  fewer  words. 


FUTURISM 


171 


Scenery  will  become  less  and  less  obvious  —  save,  of 
course,  where  it  is  intended  to  be  of  first  importance.  In 
the  theater  of  the  future  there  will  be  less  and  less  on  the 
stage  to  interfere  with  the  play  —  of  the  spectator’s  imagina¬ 
tion. 

<$><$>❖ 

There  is  a  precisely  parallel  tendency  in  print  —  more 
action,  fewer  words;  more  suggestion,  less  description. 

The  future  novel  will  leave  more  and  more  to  be  supplied 
by  the  reader.  Paragraphs,  pages,  whole  chapters  now 
deemed  essential,  will  be  omitted. 

In  books  such  as  histories,  philosophical  works,  scientific 
treatises,  &c.,  &c.,  the  skill  and  art  of  the  printer  will  be 
exhausted  to  make  the  page  not  only  attractive  but  ex¬ 
pressive —  readable  at  a  glance,  instead  of,  as  now,  to  make 
the  volumes  as  forbidding  as  possible. 

The  much-despised  “yellow  journal”  of  America  has 
taught  a  valuable  lesson  in  the  art  of  emphasis,  and  its  effect 
is  seen  not  only  in  the  make-up  of  newspapers  but  of  period¬ 
icals,  and  will  be  felt  in  the  make-up  of  books.* 

<$>  <$>  <e> 

In  America  the  art  of  advertising  has  far  outstripped  the 
art  of  literature.  The  advertising  pages  of  our  periodicals 
are  often  more  interesting  and  always  more  alive  than  the 
literary. 

A  magazine  devotes  pages  to  an  article  or  a  story  every 
line  of  which  betrays  the  writer’s  evident  desire  to  write  as 

*  Before  seeing  any  of  the  Futurist  literature  and  influenced  only 
by  developments  in  the  printing  of  newspapers  and  periodicals  in 
America,  the  writer  caused  a  book  on  an  economic  subject  to  be 
printed  in  such  a  manner  that,  so  far  as  possible,  each  page  displayed 
on  its  face  its  contents.  The  attempt  was  made  to  so  break  up  the 
pages  and  so  use  italics  and  capitals  that  the  task  of  the  reader 
would  be  lightened.  The  attempt  attracted  the  very  favorable  atten¬ 
tion  of  reviewers,  several  remarking  that  “  the  arts  of  the  advertiser 
had  been  used  to  display  the  ideas  ”  —  and  that  was  true. 


172  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 

many  words  as  possible.  In  the  advertising  pages,  to  every 
square  inch,  the  minds  not  of  one  but  of  three  or  four  experts 
have  been  concentrated  upon  the  attempt  to  express  an  idea 
in  as  few  words  as  possible  and  in  such  a  manner  it  will 
stand  out  and  be  read  with  a  minimum  of  trouble. 

Why  should  not  stories  be  told  that  way?  Why  should 
not  all  literature  be  written  and  printed  that  way? 

The  proposition  may  seem  a  startling  one,  but  the  tendency 
is  that  way. 

We  find  fault  with  our  plays,  our  poetry,  our  fiction,  our 
serious  literature ;  we  complain  people  prefer  the  flashy 
periodical ;  well  the  word  flashy  is  doubly  descriptive  —  it  is 
commonly  used  to  describe  the  quality  but  it  also  measures 

time. 

<$><$><$> 

Meanwhile  most  of  us  underrate  the  intelligence  of  our 
readers  and  use  more  words  than  are  necessary  to  carry  our 
meanings. 

The  Futurists  themselves  use  an  abundance  of  words  in 
advocating  their  cause,  though  their  examples  of  Futurist 
literature  contain  many  lines  and  pages  that  are  written  in 
strict  accordance  with  their  theories. 

Marinette  says  in  so  many  words,  “  Philosophy,  science, 
politics,  journalism,  must  still  make  use  of  the  conventional 
syntax  and  punctuation;  I  am  myself  obliged  to  use  them 

to  explain  my  ideas.” 

J  <?>  <S>  <$> 

March  8,  1910,  in  the  Theatre  Chiarella,  at  Turin,  before 
an  audience  of  three  thousand,  the  Futurist  painters  launched 
their  first  declaration  of  faith,  “which  contained,”  to  follow 
their  own  words,  “all  our  profound  disgusts  and  hatreds, 
our  revolts  against  vulgarity,  against  academic  and  pedantic 
mediocrity,  against  the  fanatic  cult  of  what  is  antique.” 


MUNTER 
The  Boat  Ride 


MUNTER 
The  White  Wall 


FUTURISM 


173 


1.  Our  desire  for  the  truth  no  longer  contents  itself  with  form 
and  color  as  heretofore  understood. 

2.  What  we  wish  to  reproduce  on  the  canvas  is  not  an  instant  or 
a  moment  of  immobility  of  the  universal  force  that  surrounds  us» 
but  the  sensation  of  that  force  itself. 

3.  As  a  matter  of  fact  everything  moves,  everything  runs,  every¬ 
thing  transforms  rapidly.  A  profile  is  never  immobile  before  us,  but 
it  appears  and  disappears  without  ceasing. 

Given  the  fact  of  the  momentary  persistence  of  the  image  on  the 
retina,  objects  in  movement  multiply,  change  form  and  follow  like 
vibrations  in  space.  A  running  horse  has  not  four  legs,  but  twenty, 
and  their  movements  are  triangular. 

4.  Nothing  is  absolute  in  painting.  That  which  was  a  truth  for 
the  painters  of  yesterday,  is  a  lie  for  those  of  today.  We  declare,  for 
example,  that  a  portrait  should  not  resemble  its  sitter,  and  that  the 
painter  carries  in  his  own  imagination  the  landscape  he  wishes  to 
place  upon  the  canvas. 

[On  this  point  the  Futurists  and  Cubists  agree.] 

5.  To  paint  the  human  figure  it  is  not  necessary  to  paint  the 
figure  but  simply  to  give  its  envelopment.  Space  does  not  exist. 
Millions  of  miles  separate  us  from  the  sun,  yet  that  is  no  reason 
why  the  house  before  us  should  not  be  encased  in  the  solar  disk. 
In  our  work  we  can  secure  effects  similar  to  those  of  the  X-ray. 
Opacity  does  not  exist. 

They  paint  all  sides  of  an  object  as  if  they  saw  through  it. 
They  will  paint  a  platter  on  a  table  and  the  part  of  the  table  cov¬ 
ered  by  the  platter;  they  will  paint  the  entire  collar  about  the  neck 
so  that  it  is  visible  through  the  neck.  They  ignore  not  only  the  ordi¬ 
nary  conceptions  of  space,  but  time  does  not  exist  for  them.  Where 
in  ordinary  painting  the  box  of  bonbons  that  is  passed  at  a  baptism 
may  be  painted  closed  on  a  table,  the  Futurist  shows  what  is  inside 
the  box,  also  the  people  assembled  to  whom  the  bonbons  are  given, 
and  the  infant  to  be  baptized,  and  perhaps  the  marriage  of  the  father 
and  mother,  the  carriages  outside  the  church,  etc.,  etc.* 

They  illustrate  further. 

The  sixteen  persons  about  us  in  a  moving  omnibus  are  in  turn 
and  at  the  same  time,  one,  ten,  four,  three;  they  are  immobile  and 
yet  move;  they  go,  come,  bounding  along  the  street,  suddenly  lost  in 
the  sun,  then  return  seated  before  you,  like  so  many  symbols  per¬ 
sistent  of  universal  vibration. 

*  From  an  article  by  Ray  Nyst,  a  Belgian  critic  in  “  La  Belgique 
Artistique  et  Libraire.” 


174  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


How  often  it  happens  that  upon  the  cheek  of  the  person  with 
whom  we  are  talking  we  see  the  horse  that  passes  far  away  at  the  end 
of  the  street.  Our  bodies  become  parts  of  the  seat  upon  which  we 
rest  and  the  seat  becomes  part  of  us.  The  omnibus  merges  in  the 
houses  that  it  passes,  and  the  houses  mix  with  the  bus  and  become 
part  of  it. 

6.  The  construction  of  pictures  up  to  this  time  has  been  stu¬ 
pidly  traditional. 

Painters  have  always  shown  things  and  persons  before  us.  We 
place  the  spectator  in  the  midst  of  the  picture. 

Heretofore  we  have  looked  at  pictures;  it  is  the  idea  of  the 
Futurist  that  we  should  look  through  them,  that  the  pictures  should 
give  us  new  visions  of  life  and  things,  new  sensations,  new  emotions. 

We  declare: 

That  one  should  hate  every  form  of  imitation  and  glorify  every 
form  of  originality. 

That  it  is  necessary  to  revolt  against  the  tyranny  of  the  words 
“  harmony  ”  and  “  good  taste,”  expressions  too  elastic  and  with  which 
one  might  easily  condemn  the  works  of  Rembrandt,  Goya,  and  Rodin. 

That  art  critics  are  useless  and  detrimental. 

That  it  is  necessary  to  brush  aside  all  the  subjects  already  used, 
in  order  to  adequately  express  our  turbulent  life  of  steel,  of  pride, 
of  feverish  rapidity. 

That  the  name  madmen  applied  to  all  innovators  shall  be  con¬ 
sidered  a  title  of  honor. 

That  the  universal  force  must  be  shown  in  painting  as  a  sensa¬ 
tion  dynamic. 

Above  all,  sincerity  and  purity  are  required  in  the  portrayal  of 
nature. 

That  movement  and  light  destroy  the  materiality  of  objects. 

We  are  opposed  to  the  use  of  those  bituminous  colors  by  which 
it  is  attempted  to  secure  the  effect  of  time  on  modern  pictures. 

We  are  opposed  to  the  superficial  and  elementary  archaism  based 
on  the  flat  tints  and  linear  manner  of  the  Egyptians,  which  makes 
painting  puerile  and  grotesque. 

We  are  opposed  to  the  false  modernism  of  the  Secessionists  and 
Independents  who  have  built  up  new  “schools”  as  pontifical  as 
the  old. 

The  nude  in  painting  is  as  nauseous  as  adultery  in  literature. 

To  explain  this  last  article:  There  is  nothing  immoral  in  our 
eyes,  it  is  the  monotony  of  nudity  that  we  fight  against.  Painters 
possessed  of  the  desire  to  display  on  canvas  the  bodies  of  the  women 
with  whom  they  are  in  love  have  transformed  picture  exhibitions  into 


FUTURISM 


175 

galleries  of  portraits  of  disreputables.  We  demand  for  the  next  ten 
years  the  absolute  suppression  of  the  nude  in  painting. 

<$>  <$> 

The  first  exhibition  of  Futurist  paintings  in  London  was 
at  the  Sackville  Gallery  in  March,  1912. 

The  painters  printed  by  way  of  preface  to  the  little  cata¬ 
logue  a  statement  of  their  beliefs  and  aims.  From  this  state¬ 
ment  the  following  paragraphs  are  taken : 

“We  are  young  and  our  art  is  violently  revolutionary.” 

Speaking  of  the  Cubists  and  Post-Impressionists  generally : 

“While  we  admire  the  heroism  of  these  painters  of  great 
worth,  who  have  displayed  a  laudable  contempt  for  artistic 
commercialism  and  a  powerful  hatred  of  academism,  we  feel 
ourselves  and  we  declare  ourselves  to  be  absolutely  opposed 
to  their  art. 

“They  obstinately  continue  to  paint  objects  motionless, 
frozen,  and  all  the  static  aspects  of  nature;  they  worship 
the  traditionalism  of  Poussin,  of  Ingres,  of  Corot,  ageing  and 
petrifying  their  art  with  an  obstinate  attachment  to  the  past, 
which  to  our  eyes  remains  totally  incomprehensible. 

“  We,  on  the  contrary,  with  points  of  view  pertaining  es¬ 
sentially  to  the  future,  seek  for  a  style  of  motion,  a  thing 
which  has  never  been  attempted  before  us. 

“  All  the  truths  learnt  in  the  schools  or  in  the  studios  are 
abolished  for  us.  Our  hands  are  free  enough  and  pure  enough 
to  start  everything  afresh. 

“  It  is  indisputable  that  several  of  the  aesthetic  declarations 
of  our  French  comrades  display  a  sort  of  masked  academism. 

“  Is  it  not,  indeed,  a  return  to  the  Academy  to  declare  that 
the  subject,  in  painting,  is  of  perfectly  insignificant  value? 

“We  declare,  on  the  contrary,  that  there  can  be  no  modern 
painting  without  the  starting  point  of  an  absolutely  modern 
sensation,  and  none  can  contradict  us  when  we  state  that 
painting  and  sensation  are  two  inseparable  words. 


176  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


“  If  our  pictures  are  futurist,  it  is  because  they  are  the 
result  of  absolutely  futurist  conceptions,  ethical,  aesthetic, 
political,  and  social. 

“  To  paint  from  the  posing  model  is  an  absurdity,  and  an 
act  of  mental  cowardice,  even  if  the  model  be  translated  upon 
the  picture  in  linear,  spherical,  or  cubic  forms. 

“  To  lend  an  allegorical  significance  to  an  ordinary  nude 
figure,  deriving  the  meaning  of  the  picture  from  the  objects 
held  by  the  model  or  from  those  which  are  arranged  about 
him,  is  to  our  mind  the  evidence  of  a  traditional  and  academic 
mentality. 

“  While  we  repudiate  impressionism,  we  emphatically  con¬ 
demn  the  present  reaction  which,  in  order  to  kill  impression¬ 
ism,  brings  back  painting  to  old  academic  forms. 

“  It  is  only  possible  to  react  against  impressionism  by  sur¬ 
passing  it. 

“  Nothing  is  more  absurd  than  to  fight  it  by  adopting  the 
pictural  laws  which  preceded  it. 

“  The  points  of  contact  which  the  quest  of  style  may  have 
with  the  so-called  classic  art  do  not  concern  us. 

“  Others  will  seek,  and  will,  no  doubt,  discover,  these  anal¬ 
ogies  which  in  any  case  cannot  be  looked  upon  as  a  return 
to  methods,  conceptions,  and  values  transmitted  by  classical 
painting. 

“  A  few  examples  will  illustrate  our  theory. 

“We  see  no  difference  between  one  of  those  nude  figures 
commonly  called  artistic  and  an  anatomical  plate.  There  is, 
on  the  other  hand,  an  enormous  difference  between  one  of 
these  nude  figures  and  our  futurist  conception  of  the  human 
body. 

“  Perspective,  such  as  it  is  understood  by  the  majority  of 
painters,  has  for  us  the  very  same  value  which  it  lends  to 
an  engineer’s  design. 


FUTURISM  177 

“The  simultaneousness  of  states  of  mind  in  the  work  of 
art:  that  is  the  intoxicating  aim  of  our  art. 

“  Let  us  explain  again  by  examples.  In  painting  a  person 
on  a  balcony,  seen  from  inside  the  room,  we  do  not  limit 
the  scene  to  what  the  square  frame  of  the  window  renders 
visible;  but  we  try  to  render  the  sum  total  of  visual  sensa¬ 
tions  which  the  person  on  the  balcony  has  experienced;  the 
sun-bathed  throng  in  the  street,  the  double  row  of  houses 
which  stretch  to  right  and  left,  the  beflowered  balconies, 
etc.  This  implies  the  simultaneousness  of  the  ambient,  and, 
therefore,  the  dislocation  and  dismemberment  of  objects,  the 
scattering  and  fusion  of  details,  freed  from  accepted  logic, 
and  independent  from  one  another. 

“  In  order  to  make  the  spectator  live  in  the  center  of  the 
picture,  as  we  express  it  in  our  manifesto,  the  picture  must  be 
the  synthesis  of  zvhat  one  remembers  and  of  zvhat  one  sees. 

“  You  must  render  the  invisible  which  stirs  and  lives  be¬ 
yond  intervening  obstacles,  what  we  have  on  the  right,  on  the 
left,  and  behind  us,  and  not  merely  the  small  square  of  life 
artificially  compressed,  as  it  were,  by  the  wings  of  a  stage.” 

[This  feeling  of  transparency  is  fundamental  to  the  theory.] 

“  We  have  declared  in  our  manifesto  that  what  must  be 
rendered  is  the  dynamic  sensation,  that  is  to  say,  the  particular 
rhythm  of  each  object,  its  inclination,  its  movement,  or,  to 
put  it  more  exactly,  its  interior  force. 

“  It  is  usual  to  consider  the  human  being  in  its  different 
aspects  of  motion  or  stillness,  of  joyous  excitement  or  grave 
melancholy. 

“  What  is  overlooked  is  that  all  inanimate  objects  display, 
by  their  lines,  calmness  or  frenzy,  sadness  or  gaiety.  These 
various  tendencies  lend  to  the  lines  of  which  they  are  formed 
a  sense  and  character  of  weighty  stability  or  of  aerial  light¬ 
ness. 


178  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


“  Every  object  reveals  by  its  lines  how  it  would  resolve 
itself  were  it  to  follow  the  tendencies  of  its  forces. 

“  This  decomposition  is  not  governed  by  fixed  laws  but  it 
varies  according  to  the  characteristic  personality  of  the  object 
and  the  emotions  of  the  onlooker. 

“  Furthermore,  every  object  influences  its  neighbour,  not  by 
reflections  of  light  (the  foundation  of  impressionistic  primitiv¬ 
ism),  but  by  a  real  competition  of  lines  and  by  real  conflicts 
of  planes,  following  the  emotional  law  which  governs  the  pic¬ 
ture  (the  foundation  of  futurist  primitivism). 

“  With  the  desire  to  intensify  the  aesthetic  emotions  by 
blending,  so  to  speak,  the  painted  canvas  with  the  soul  of 
the  spectator,  we  have  declared  that  the  latter  ' must  in  future 
be  placed  in  the  center  of  the  picture.’ 

“We  may  further  explain  our  idea  by  a  comparison  drawn 
from  the  evolution  of  music. 

“  Not  only  have  we  radically  abandoned  the  motive  fully 
developed  according  to  its  determined  and,  therefore,  arti¬ 
ficial  equilibrium,  but  we  suddenly  and  purposely  intersect 
each  motive  with  one  or  more  other  motives  of  which  we 
never  give  the  full  development  but  merely  the  initial,  central, 
or  final  notes. 

“  As  you  see,  there  is  with  us  not  merely  variety,  but  chaos 
and  clashing  of  rhythms,  totally  opposed  to  one  another, 
which  we  nevertheless  assemble  into  a  new  harmony. 

“We  thus  arrive  at  what  we  call  the  painting  of  states  of 
mind. 

“  One  may  remark,  also,  in  our  pictures  spots,  lines,  zones 
of  colour  which  do  not  correspond  to  any  reality,  but  which, 
in  accordance  with  a  law  of  our  interior  mathematics,  music¬ 
ally  prepare  and  enhance  the  emotion  of  the  spectator. 

“We  thus  create  a  sort  of  emotive  ambience,  seeking  by 
intuition  the  sympathies  and  the  links  which  exist  between 


RUSSOLO 

Rebellion 


FUTURISM 


179 


the  exterior  (concrete)  scene  and  the  interior  (abstract)  emo¬ 
tion.  Those  lines,  those  spots,  those  zones  of  colour,  appar¬ 
ently  illogical  and  meaningless,  are  the  mysterious  keys  to 
our  pictures. 

“  Conclusion :  Our  futurist  painting  embodies  three  new 
conceptions  of  painting: 

“  i.  That  which  solves  the  question  of  volumes  in  a  pic¬ 
ture,  as  opposed  to  the  liquefaction  of  objects  favoured  by 
the  vision  of  the  impressionists. 

“  2.  That  which  leads  us  to  translate  objects  according  to 
the  force  lines  which  distinguish  them,  and  by  which  is  ob¬ 
tained  an  absolutely  new  power  of  objective  poetry. 

“  3.  That  (the  natural  consequence  of  the  other  two) 
which  would  give  the  emotional  ambience  of  a  picture,  the 
synthesis  of  the  various  abstract  rhythms  of  every  object,  from 
which  there  springs  a  fount  of  pictural  lyricism  hitherto 
unknown.”  <$>  <j>  <$> 

The  explanations  of  two  pictures  are  as  follows : 

“Leave-taking,”  by  Boccioni:  “In  the  midst  of  the  con¬ 
fusion  of  departure,  the  mingled  concrete  and  abstract  sen¬ 
sations  are  translated  into  force  lines  and  rhythms  in  quasi¬ 
musical  harmony:  mark  the  undulating  lines  and  the  chords 
made  up  of  the  combinations  of  figures  and  objects.  The 
prominent  elements,  such  as  the  number  of  the  engine,  its 
profile  shown  in  the  upper  part  of  the  picture,  its  wind-cut¬ 
ting  forepart  in  the  center,  symbolical  of  parting,  indicate 
the  features  of  the  scene  that  remain  indelibly  impressed  upon 
the  mind.” 

“  Rebellion,”  by  Russolo :  “  The  collision  of  two  forces, 
that  of  the  revolutionary  element  made  up  of  enthusiasm  and 
red  lyricism  against  the  force  of  inertia  and  reactionary  re¬ 
sistance  of  tradition.  The  angles  are  the  vibratory  waves 
of  the  former  force  in  motion.  The  perspective  of  the  houses 


180  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


is  destroyed  just  as  a  boxer  is  bent  double  by  receiving  a 
blow  in  the  wind.”  <S> 

The  theory  of  the  Futurists  is  vividly  illustrated  in  the 
following  note  to  a  picture  called  “  The  Street  Enters  the 
House.”  “  The  dominating  sensation  is  that  which  one  would 
experience  on  opening  a  window:  all  life,  the  noises  of  the 
street  rush  in  at  the  same  time  as  the  movement  and  reality 
of  the  objects  outside.  The  painter  does  not  limit  himself  to 
what  he  sees  in  the  square  frame  of  the  window  as  would 
a  simple  photographer,  but  he  also  reproduces  what  he  would 
see  by  looking  out  on  every  side  from  the  balcony.” 

To  the  layman  this  attitude  is  almost  incomprehensible. 
For  instance,  the  Cubist,  Pierre  Dumont,  says  of  his  picture, 
“The  Cathedral  at  Rouen”: 

One  must  not  expect  to  find  in  this  picture  an  exact  representa¬ 
tion  of  the  cathedral  at  Rouen,  but  rather  my  idea,  my  personal 
perception,  of  this  cathedral  as  I  see  it. 

In  painting  my  picture  I  did  not  paint  from  a  fixed  point  and 
always  from  the  same  point,  but  I  studied  the  cathedral  and  surround¬ 
ings  from  all  points  of  view  and  obtained  a  personal  conception  of 
it,  which  I  reproduced  on  my  canvas. 

I  only  included  the  details  which  struck  me  most  forcibly,  and 
thought  it  necessary  to  break  up  the  monotony  of  the  roofs  in  the 
first  plan  by  one  of  the  most  beautiful  details  of  the  cathedral  —  a 
statue  of  a  saint,  who  is  certainly  not  in  his  right  place  as  far  as  the 
eye  is  concerned,  but  does  really  occupy  the  place  which  he  occupies 
in  my  conception  of  what  was  before  me. 

<$><$><$> 

That  a  painter  should  deliberately  attempt  to  show  on 
one  canvas  features  of  all  sides  of  a  building,  strikes  the 
layman — and  many  artists — as  a  “crazy”  attempt  to  achieve 
the  impossible;  but  it  is  not  impossible,  as  a  moment’s 
reflection  shows. 

It  is,  of  course,  easy  to  show  all  sides  and  all  details  of  a 
building,  interior  and  exterior,  on  one  sheet  or  canvas,  by 


FUTURISM 


181 


drawing  or  painting,  one  after  another,  in  panorama  effect  — 
that  is  done  in  every  architect’s  drawing-room. 

It  is  also  equally  possible  to  superimpose  these  detached 
drawings  one  over  the  other  and  see  or  feel  the  outlines 
through.  That  is,  the  drawing  or  photograph  of  the  exterior 
of  a  cathedral  may  be  so  made  as  to  show  in  outline  or 
shadowy  substance  the  altar  within. 

Illustrations  along  these  lines  are  common  in  fiction  — 
ghostly,  shadowy,  mystical  effects,  effects  secured  only 
by  treating  stones  and  walls  and  human  beings  as  semi¬ 
transparent. 

In  this  way  every  feature  of  a  cathedral  that  strikes  the 
artist,  whether  on  the  outside  or  inside,  whether  a  feature  so 
permanent  as  a  statue  or  so  fleeting  as  a  wedding  ceremony, 
may  be  indicated  in  his  picture.  By  suppressing  every  detail 
save  the  most  striking,  what  purports  to  be  the  picture  of  a 
cathedral  may  appear  to  be  fragments  of  spires,  bronze  doors, 
statues,  altars,  lights,  processions,  the  brilliant  color  of  a 
priest’s  robe,  the  white  note  of  a  bridal  veil. 

Another  man  painting  his  impressions  of  the  same  sub¬ 
ject  might  catch  glimpses  of  entirely  different  features. 

If  we  can  in  our  mind’s  eye  see  what  is  behind  an  object; 
if,  for  instance,  we  can  picture  to  ourselves  clearly  the  chil¬ 
dren  playing  in  the  yard  back  of  a  house,  why  may  not  the 
painter,  if  he  chooses,  suggest  to  us  in  his  picture  of  the 
house  the  vital  feature  of  the  children  in  the  rear? 

The  feat  is  a  seemingly  impossible  one.  Perhaps  neither 
the  Cubists  nor  the  Futurists  have  accomplished  it  success¬ 
fully;  but  because  it  is  difficult  is  no  reason  why  the  attempt 
should  not  be  made. 

Theoretically  there  is  nothing  to  be  said  against  pictures 
which  show  what  both  the  eye  and  the  mind’s  eye  of  the 
artist  see. 


182  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


The  works  of  the  ultra-modern  men  can  be  understood 
only  by  the  aid  of  the  imagination,  by  the  aid  of  the  mind's 
eye  to  see  through,  and  about  and  into  things,  to  see  the  inner 
conditions,  happenings,  and  significance  of  things. 

Stated  in  other  terms,  the  extreme  modern  is  no  longer 
content  to  paint  what  is  before  his  eyes  at  a  given  moment 
and  from  a  given  point  of  view;  he  is  no  longer  content  to 
act  the  part  of  a  camera,  making  reproductions  of  what  is  in 
front  of  it.  He  demands  the  freedom  to  walk  around  his 
subject,  fly  over  it,  enter  it,  find  out  all  about  it,  and  then 
record  on  canvas  the  sum  and  substance  of  his  observations 
and  reflections.  The  result  may  not  look  like  a  cathedral, 
but  if  done  by  a  genius  it  may  give  a  fine  impression  of  cer¬ 
tain  salient  features  of  the  building,  inside  and  out,  and  also 
a  vivid  impression  of  some  of  its  great  ceremonies.  Why  not 
try  to  paint  the  power  as  well  as  the  proportions? 

<$>  <$>  <$> 

If  the  American  public  found  the  work  of  Lehmbruck 
and  Brancusi  queer,  what  would  it  think  of  the  Futurist 
sculpture  ? 

The  two  female  figures  exhibited  by  Lehmbruck  were 
simply  decorative  elongations  of  natural  forms.  In  technic 
they  were  quite  conventional.  Their  modelling  was  along 
purely  classical  lines,  far  more  severely  classical  than  much 
of  the  realistic  work  of  Rodin. 

The  heads  by  Brancusi  were  idealistic  in  the  extreme; 
the  sculptor  carried  his  theories  of  mass  and  form  so  far  he 
deliberately  lost  all  resemblance  to  actuality.  He  uses  his 
subjects  as  motives  rather  than  models.  In  this  respect  he  is 
not  unlike  —  though  more  extreme  than  —  the  great  Japanese 
and  Chinese  artists,  who  use  life  and  nature  arbitrarily  to 
secure  the  results  they  desire. 

I  have  a  golden  bronze  head  —  a  “Sleeping  Muse,”  by 


FUTURISM  183 

Brancusi  —  so  simple,  so  severe  in  its  beauty,  it  might  have 
come  from  the  Orient. 

<$><$><§> 

Of  this  head  and  two  other  pieces  of  sculpture  exhibited 
by  Brancusi  in  July,  1913,  at  the  Allied  Artists’  Exhibition 
in  London,  Roger  Fry  said  in  “The  Nation,”  August  2: 

Constantin  Brancusi’s  sculptures  have  not,  I  think,  been  seen 
before  in  England.  His  three  heads  are  the  most  remarkable  works 
of  sculpture  at  the  Albert  Hall.  Two  are  in  brass  and  one  in  stone. 
They  show  a  technical  skill  which  is  almost  disquieting,  a  skill  which 
might  lead  him,  in  default  of  any  overpowering  imaginative  purpose, 
to  become  a  brilliant  pasticheur.  But  it  seemed  to  me  there  was 
evidence  of  passionate  conviction;  that  the  simplification  of  forms  was 
no  mere  exercise  in  plastic  design,  but  a  real  interpretation  of  the 
rhythm  of  life.  These  abstract  vivid  forms  into  which  he  compresses 
his  heads  give  a  vivid  presentment  of  character;  they  are  not  empty 
abstractions,  but  filled  with  a  content  which  has  been  clearly,  and 
passionately  apprehended. 

<e>  <e>  <$> 

Futurist  sculpture,  like  Futurist  painting,  starts  with  a 
fundamental  departure. 

All  sculpture,  classic  as  well  as  Impressionistic  and  Post- 
Impressionistic,  deals  with  an  object  or  a  group  of  objects. 
It  models  and  reproduces  them  detached  from  their  environ¬ 
ment. 

Futurist  sculpture  seeks  to  reproduce  a  figure  or  an 
object  attached  to  and  a  part  of  its  fleeting  and  flowing 
surroundings,  its  atmosphere,  its  medium. 

It  goes  further;  it  seeks  to  convey  not  only  the  impres¬ 
sion  of  the  truth  that  a  figure  is  a  part  of  its  environment, 
but  that  its  atmosphere  and  environment  flows  through  the 
figure  and  the  figure  through  the  environment,  that  nothing  is 
segregated  but  everything  fusing. 

The  philosophical  thought  is  old,  as  old  as  the  earliest 
Greek  philosophy,  but  the  attempt  to  express  the  thought  in 
stone,  wood,  bronze,  is  new. 


184  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


We  may  feel  sure  the  attempt  is  futile,  that  it  cannot 
succeed,  but  our  scepticism  is  no  reason  why  a  sculptor  in 
his  enthusiasm  should  not  make  the  attempt. 

<$><$><$> 

In  June  and  July  last  a  Futurist  sculptor,  Boccioni, 
exhibited  some  of  his  work  in  Paris. 

One  example,  “Head  —  Houses  —  Light,”  was  literally  a 
conglomerate  of  a  human  bust  of  heroic  size,  with  hands 
crossed  in  front,  and  the  following  accessories: 

On  the  top  of  the  head  the  fronts  of  several  small  houses, 
with  doors,  windows,  and  all  details  just  as  the  sculptor  saw  the 
houses  many  blocks  back  of  his  model.  The  casual  observer 
would  be  completely  mystified  on  seeing  several  house  fronts 
start  out  of  the  head  of  a  bust;  but  when  one  understands 
that  it  is  a  fundamental  belief  of  the  Futurists  that  all  that 
is  within  the  vision ,  actual  or  imagined,  of  painter  or  sculptor 
is  a  part  of  the  picture  or  bust,  the  reason  why  of  the  houses 
is  plain. 

From  one  shoulder  of  the  figure  starts  about  eighteen 
inches  of  a  wooden  railing  and  iron  grill  work,  part  of  a 
balcony,  just  as  the  sculptor  glimpsed  it  a  block  or  so  down 
the  street. 

A  little  to  the  back  of  the  shoulder  is  a  slightly  inclined 
level  surface  about  a  foot  square;  on  this  surface  is  the  toy 
figure,  an  inch  high,  of  a  woman  in  street  costume.  The 
figure  was  probably  bought  at  a  toy  store,  just  as  the  wooden 
railing  and  iron  grill  work  might  have  been  picked  up  at  any 
second-hand  shop.  The  little  figure  of  the  woman  and  the 
level  surface  represent  some  open  square  that  —  judging  from 
the  diminutive  size  of  the  figure  —  must  have  been  a  long 
distance  away,  far  enough  away  for  a  human  being  to  appear 
no  taller  than  an  inch. 

The  entire  bust  was  crudely  colored,  and  one  side  of  the 


\ 


BOCCIONI 

Head  -f-  Houses  +  Light 


•4 


FUTURISM 


185 


face  was  modelled  in  downward  flowing  lines  and  painted 
yellow  to  represent  rays  of  strong  sunlight. 

The  figure  was  ugly  in  the  extreme;  the  lines  were  ugly, 
the  coloring  ugly,  the  technic  clumsy;  but  as  an  illustration 
of  a  theory  the  work  was  both  curious  and  interesting. 

<§><$><$> 

In  the  creed  of  the  Futurist  are  found  the  following: 

1.  Sculpture  must  give  life  to  objects  by  making  sensible 
their  extension  in  space ,  for  no  one  today  can  deny  that  an 
object  continues  to  where  another  object  begins,  and  that  all 
things  that  are  about  us  —  automobile,  house,  tree,  street, 
etc.,  etc. —  traverse  our  bodies,  dividing  us  into  planes  and 
sections,  forming  an  arabesque  of  curved  and  straight  lines. 

This  traversing  of  each  object  by  the  planes  occupied  by 
all  other  objects  is  called  in  the  transcendental  terminology 
of  Futurism,  “  Compenetration  of  planes ”  (Here  Futurist  and 
Cubist  again  meet.) 

2.  A  Futurist  sculptural  composition  will  contain  in  itself 
the  marvellous  mathematical  and  geometrical  elements  of 
modern  objects.  These  objects  will  not  be  placed  close  to 
the  statue,  like  so  many  detached  explanatory  attributes  or 
decorative  elements,  but  according  to  the  laws  of  the  new 
conception  of  harmony  they  will  be  embodied  in  the  muscular 
lines  of  the  body.  For  example,  we  may  see  the  wheel  of  an 
automobile  starting  out  of  the  body  of  a  chauffeur,  the  line 
of  a  table  traversing  the  head  of  a  man  who  is  reading,  and 
the  pages  of  his  book  may  project  through  his  chest. 

3.  The  abolition  complete  of  the  line  finished  and  the 
statue  isolated!  Throw  open  the  figure  like  a  window  and 
make  part  of  it  the  surroundings  in  which  it  exists.  The 
sidewalk  may  extend  to  your  table;  your  head  may  traverse 
and  include  the  street,  and  at  the  same  moment  your  lamp 
may  unite  house  to  house  by  its  searching  rays. 


186  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


The  entire  world  precipitates  itself  upon  us,  amalgamates 
with  us,  creating  a  harmony  that  will  not  be  controlled  except 
by  creative  intuition. 

4.  Do  not  be  afraid  to  go  outside  one  art  and  receive 
assistance  from  others.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  painting 
alone,  sculpture  alone,  music  alone,  poetry  alone;  there  is 
simply  creation. 

Hence  if  a  particular  sculptural  composition  needs  some 
special  movement  to  augment  or  contrast  the  rhythm  of  the 
ensemble,  there  is  no  reason  why  one  should  not  make  use 
of  a  small  motor  to  secure  the  effect. 

5.  It  is  necessary  to  get  rid  of  the  idea,  purely  literary 
and  traditional,  that  marble  and  bronze  are  the  materials 
that  must  be  used  in  great  sculpture.  The  sculptor  may  use 
twenty  materials  in  one  work  if  required  to  express  his  idea. 
He  may  use  glass,  wood,  cement,  cardboard,  leather,  cloth, 
mirrors,  electric  lights,  etc. 

6.  It  is  only  by  choosing  subjects  absolutely  modern 
that  one  can  discover  new  motives  and  ideas. 

7.  It  is  necessary  to  abandon  the  nude  and  the  tradi¬ 
tional  conception  of  the  statue  and  the  monument. 

8.  What  the  Futurist  sculpture  creates  is,  in  a  way,  the 
ideal  bridge  that  unites  the  infinite  plastic  exterior  with  the 
infinite  plastic  interior.  That  is  why  the  objects  never  finish, 
but  they  intersect  with  endless  combinations  both  sympathetic 
and  averse.  The  feeling  of  the  spectator  is  at  the  center  of 
the  work,  not  aloof  and  outside,  as  with  traditional  sculpture. 

❖  <e>  <$> 

All  this  sounds  wildly  extravagant,  but  not  absolutely 
incoherent.  <$><$><$> 

The  obvious  objection  to  the  attempt  of  the  Futurist 
sculptor  to  include  in  his  composition  an  object  and  its  environ- 


- 


FUTURISM 


187 


ment  is  found  in  his  own  proposition  —  which  is  philosoph¬ 
ically  valid  —  that  the  universe  is  the  atmosphere,  the  environ¬ 
ment  of  every  object  from  a  grain  of  sand  to  a  planet. 

Hence  the  Futurist  figure  that  shows  a  few  houses,  a  bit 
of  a  railing,  a  glimpse  of  a  distant  square,  is  more  compre¬ 
hensive  than  the  conventional  bust  to  only  an  infinitesimal 
degree;  only  almost  infinitesimal  fractions  of  the  enveloping 
universe  are  shown. 

The  effect  is  fragmentary  and  confusing. 

Other  sculptors,  conspicuously  Rodin  in  some  of  his  work, 
get  the  effect  of  atmosphere  and  environment  by  detaching 
the  figure  or  composition  only  partially  from  the  block  of 
marble  or  mass  of  bronze,  leaving  to  the  imagination  of  the 
observer  the  finishing  of  the  work,  the  supplying  of  both 
environment  and  atmosphere. 

That  would  seem  to  be  the  finer,  the  purer,  the  more 
abstract  way. 

<$><$><$> 

In  fact,  there  is  an  obvious  contradiction  between  the 
creed  of  the  Futurist  sculptor  and  the  Futurist  writer. 

The  former  feels  impelled  to  show  environment  by  encum¬ 
bering  his  figure  with  an  overwhelming  mass  of  details, 
houses,  railings,  sidewalks,  petty  figures,  etc.,  etc. —  all  the 
qualifying  objects  that  happen  within  his  vision,  leaving 
nothing  to  the  imagination  of  his  observer;  while  the  Futur¬ 
ist  writer  would  eliminate  from  literature  all  adjectival  and 
adverbial  words  and  phrases,  leaving  the  nouns  (the  simple 
figures  of  sculpture)  to  stand  alone. 

<$><$><$> 

Many  things  can  be  done  in  painting  that  cannot  be  done 
in  sculpture.  A  figure  may  be  painted  against  a  background 
of  an  entire  city,  or  against  the  heavens ;  or  it  may  be  painted 


188  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


in  the  midst  of  a  battle,  or  a  train  wreck;  the  flight  of  years 
can  be  indicated,  centuries  may  be  swept  into  one  canvas. 

In  sculpture  this  cannot  be  done  save,  in  a  measure,  in 
such  crude  mixtures  of  sculpture,  relief,  and  painted  scenes 
as  those  large  circular  panoramas  so  popular  twenty  years 
ago,  where  the  spectator  stood  in  the  center  —  where  the 
theory  of  the  Futurist  requires  him  to  be  —  and  gazed  from 
life-size  figures  and  objects  at  his  feet  across  smaller  and 
smaller,  until  reality  imperceptibly  joined  the  painted  canvas, 
which  gave  a  sense  of  great  distance  —  entire  battle-fields. 

The  Futurist  sculptor  cannot  give  this  sense  of  environ¬ 
ment  and  atmosphere  by  attaching  diminutive  houses  and 
bits  of  balconies  to  the  bust  of  a  man. 

❖  <$><$> 

In  reading  their  extravagant  declarations  and  denuncia¬ 
tions  of  the  past  it  must  be  remembered  that  extremes  beget 
extremes,  that  enthusiasts  habitually  indulge  in  extravagant 
arguments  and  theories  for  the  purpose  of  attracting  attention 
and  stimulating  discussion. 

In  an  address  recently  delivered  in  London,  the  leader 
of  Futurism  warned  his  hearers  not  to  accept  too  literally 
the  startling  extravagances  of  some  of  the  Futurist  mani¬ 
festoes  and  literature.  He  stated  frankly  that  many  of  the 
most  violent  propositions  were  uttered  for  the  purpose  of 
arousing  public  attention  to  what  they  considered  very  real 
evils  in  our  modern  life.  For  instance,  when  the  Futurists 
cry,  “Down  with  all  museums,”  “Destroy  all  remains  of 
antiquity,”  they  do  not  mean  that  if  they  were  given  the 
power  they  would  do  these  things,  but  what  they  desire  is  to 
arouse  Italy  and  the  ancient  world  to  the  fact  that  Italy  has  a 
position  as  a  modern  nation.  The  Futurists  resent  the  atti¬ 
tude  of  the  world  toward  Rome  and  Athens;  they  resent  the 
attitude  of  travelers  who  visit  those  two  places  solely  to  look 


FUTURISM 


189 


at  the  remains  of  the  ancient  world;  they  believe  that  Italy  is 
just  as  much  a  modern  nation  as  is  America,  and  that  Rome 
is  just  as  much  alive  as  is  New  York,  and  they  would  have 
people  come  to  Italy,  not  to  see  ruins,  but  to  see  her  factories 
and  industries  and  places  of  business.  When  one  rightly 
considers  the  matter  this  is  a  very  rational  and  patriotic  atti¬ 
tude,  and  it  is  the  only  attitude  that  is  wholly  consistent  with 
the  development  and  progress  of  a  nation  as  a  vital  force  in 
the  world  of  today . 

Viewed  in  the  light  of  the  intense  patriotism  which  is 
behind  some  of  these  wildly  extravagant  denunciations  of  the 
past,  they  do  not  seem  so  devoid  of  reason. 

We  in  America  have  no  past  to  oppress  us;  therefore  it 
is  difficult  for  us  to  realize  the  feeling  of  a  modern  nation,  or 
a  modern  city,  which  the  civilized  world  will  not  accept  as 
modern,  but  insists  upon  viewing  as  a  museum  of  antiquities. 

<$><$><$> 

The  address  referred  to  also  said: 

“  Futurism  was  first  put  forward  by  me  for  the  purpose 
of  renovating  and  reawakening  the  Italian  race  to  a  true 
appreciation  of  the  true  art  in  literature  as  well  as  in  paint¬ 
ing  and  sculpture.  Precisely  because  it  has  a  splendid  past, 
Italy  is  today  in  some  sort  disinherited.  The  cult  of  the 
past  is  upheld  among  them  by  a  whole  world  of  interested 
people,  and  the  Futurist  movement  in  its  creative  effort  is 
hampered  not  only  by  such  economic  hindrances  but  by  the 
mental  cowardice  of  people. 

“  In  art  you  must  continually  advance ;  those  who  stop  are 
already  dead,  or  candidates  for  death.  The  Romanticism  of 
artists  like  Baudelaire  and  Wagner  and  Flaubert  was  in¬ 
spired  by  two  or  three  principles  which  are  worn  out  today. 

‘  Salambo  ’  was  the  type  romance  of  that  old  sensibility.  In 
a  certain  sense  such  Romanticism  is  the  identification  of  the 


190  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


idea  of  beauty  with  the  idea  of  woman.  We  are  at  the  end  of 
that  period. 

“  Woman  as  the  center,  the  obsession  has  already  gone  out 
of  poetry.  As  a  leit-motif  she  has  no  longer  the  same  force; 
other  problems  have  taken  her  place.  According  to  our  view, 
poetry  is  nothing  but  a  more  intense,  a  more  exalted,  life  — 
and  that  is  why  we  combat  the  constant  intrusion  into  it  of 
the  ‘  domestic  triangle  ’  in  various  forms,  and  which  has 
been  its  ruin. 

“  Now,  Futurists  are  found  everywhere.  In  England  you 
have  H.  G.  Wells.  We  all  realize  the  need  to  be  more  rapid, 
more  intense,  more  essential,  and  though  our  method  of  ex¬ 
pression  has  been  stigmatized  as  ‘telegraphic  lyricism’  I 
take  no  exception  to  that  so  long  as  it  makes  people  talk  and 
brings  them  to  examine  our  underlying  rules  of  action. 

“  Art,  either  plastic  or  active,  is  not  a  religion.  It  is  the 
best  part  of  our  strength,  of  our  physiological  being.  It  is,  in 
consequence,  absurd  to  consider  it  as  a  system,  as  something 
to  worship  with  joined  hands;  it  should  express  all  the  inten¬ 
sity  of  life  —  its  beauty,  greatness,  its  fire,  its  brutality,  its 
sordidness. 

“  Futurism  in  poetry  represents  a  realism  profound,  rapid, 
intense  —  the  very  complex  of  our  life  of  today.” 


XII 


VIRILE-IMPRESSIONISM 


TXT  HAT  is  happening  in  America?  Exactly  what  might 
■  ■  be  expected  in  a  young,  vigorous,  and  virile  country. 

America  has  been  keenly  susceptible  to  art  influences 
from  every  section.  Her  students  are  everywhere,  her  exhi¬ 
bitions  are  gathered  from  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe. 
She  is  very  much  alive  to  what  Europe  is  doing,  she  has 
long  been  interested  in  what  China  and  Japan  have  done. 

While  her  art  is  in  the  main  conservative,  it  is  not  the 
conservatism  of  stubbornness  or  stolidity,  it  is  rather  the  con¬ 
servatism  of  isolation ;  but  her  isolation  is  a  thing  of  the  past. 
Communication  is  so  frequent,  travel  so  easy,  transportation 
so  cheap,  that  both  art  and  artists  flow  hither  and  thither 
almost  unrestricted. 

In  spite  of  this  freedom  of  inter-communication,  the 
development  of  American  art  has  been  along  independent 
lines  —  at  least  along  one  independent  line,  a  line  so  indi¬ 
vidual  in  its  characteristics  it  deserves  the  name  American- 
Impressionism,  or,  more  generically,  Virile-Impressionism. 

By  Virile-Impressionism  is  meant  a  manner  of  viewing 
nature  and  a  mode  of  painting  quite  different  from  the  more 
superficial  refinements  of  Impressionism  on  the  one  hand  and 
the  extraordinary  developments  of  Post-Impressionism  on 
the  other. 

Let  us  try  to  make  this  clear. 

<$><$> 

As  already  noted,  Impressionism  attained  a  logical  end 
in  the  painting  of  brilliant  light  effects,  especially  in  the 
works  of  the  Neo-Impressionists,  the  pointillists. 

191 


192  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


In  short,  the  drift  of  Impressionism  in  France  was  toward 
more  and  more  brilliant  reflections  of  the  surfaces  of  things. 

This  extreme  attentuation  was  quite  foreign  to  the  spirit 
of  America,  which  is  more  material  and  practical. 

<$>  <S>  <$> 

It  may  be  our  fault,  it  is  certainly  our  virtue,  that  we  are 
material  and  practical  in  our  outlook.  In  a  big,  sane  sense 
we  are  dreamers.  Only  dreamers  could  carry  the  Panama 
Canal  to  completion,  and,  to  mention  lesser  works,  only 
dreamers  could  build  such  terminals  as  the  Pennsylvania 
and  New  York  Central  in  New  York,  and  such  buildings  as 
the  Woolworth  and  the  Manhattan.  But  our  dreams  always 
take  practical  shape.  We  are  a  nation  of  inventors  because 
we  are  a  nation  of  dreamers. 

Hence,  while  our  artists  were  quick  to  respond  to  all 
that  is  good  and  strong  in  Impressionism,  they  found  little 
satisfaction  in  the  ultra-refinements  of  Neo-Impressionism. 

The  result  was  that  when  France  pressed  Impressionism 
to  its  extreme,  a  normal  and  healthy  reaction  took  place  in 
American  art. 

Many  of  the  strong  painters  of  America  began  doing 
things  of  their  own.  They  still  adhered  closely  to  nature. 
They  remained  Impressionists  in  the  older  significance  of 
the  term,  but  they  painted  not  the  surfaces  of  things  but  the 
substance  —  in  short,  they  were  C<?ra?m^-Impressionists  as 
distinguished  from  ikfow^-Impressionists. 

For  instance,  Winslow  Homer  was  a  great  and  true  Im¬ 
pressionist,  but  he  had  nothing  in  common  with  the  Neo- 
Impressionists,  and  little  in  common  with  Monet.  He  had, 
however,  a  great  deal  in  common  with  Cezanne.  His  pictures 
give  one  an  impression  of  nature  herself,  of  the  power  of  the 
sea,  the  adamant  of  the  rocks,  the  significance  of  life,  yet 
each  one  is  an  accurate  transcript  of  what  he  saw.  He  did 


i 


'*»' 


VIRILE-IMPRESSIONISM 


193 


not  go  into  his  studio  and  create  pictures  out  of  his  imagina¬ 
tion;  he  let  his  imagination  play  upon  nature,  but  nature 
controlled  all  he  did. 

He  was,  in  a  sense,  the  greatest  of  American- Impression¬ 
ists —  he  was  a  Virile-Impressionist. 

There  are  many  Virile-Impressionists  in  Europe,  but  they 
are  so  many  individuals;  here  Virile-Impressionism  is  the 
result  of  racial,  national,  geographical  conditions. 

It  was  inevitable  that  Impressionism  in  America  should 
follow  along  virile  and  substantial  lines  rather  than  along 

nervous  and  superficial;  it  is  the  way  the  country  is  built. 

% 

<$><$><$> 

Sargent  is  a  Virile-Impressionist.  He  paints  striking 
likenesses,  but  he  also  paints  marvellous  characterisations / 
that  is,  he  gets  beneath  the  skin  of  his  sitters  and  paints 
them  as  they  are,  not  as  they  seem.  His  sense  of  color  is 
very  deficient;  many  of  his  portraits  from  a  decorative  point 
of  view  are  almost  the  reverse  of  pleasing;  he  had  not  the 
faintest  appreciation  of  the  subtle  refinements  of  the  things 
Whistler  strove  so  long  and  earnestly  to  achieve ;  in  his  best 
things  he  is  strong  and  direct  to  the  point  of  brutality  —  all 
of  which  is  characteristic  of  Virile-Impressionism,  and  exactly 
what  one  would  expect  from  a  vigorous,  muscular,  frank 
American.  Though  Sargent  spends  most  of  his  time  on  the 
other  side,  he  is  no  more  English  than  French;  his  pictures 
fit  into  an  American  exhibition  far  more  comfortably  than 
into  the  Royal  Academy  or  the  old  Salon. 

Robert  Henri  is  another  strong  Virile-Impressionist. 

<$><$><$> 

The  attitude  of  American  painters  toward  the  extreme 
modern  developments  is  both  curious  and  interesting. 


194  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


On  the  opening  of  the  International  Exhibition  there  was 
an  outburst  of  violent  indignation  from  the  older  men,  ordi¬ 
nary  speech  failed  to  express  their  feelings,  and  they  rushed 
into  print  with  language  as  violent  as  the  press  would  accept. 
All  that  made  lively  reading  and  lent  zest  to  current  literature. 

Six  months  later  this  feeling  of  angry  opposition  largely 
subsided.  As  an  illustration,  one  of  the  bitterest  of  the 
Academicians  accepted  as  a  “good  idea”  the  organization 
of  an  independent  exhibition,  open  to  artists  without  the  inter¬ 
vention  of  a  jury,  under  the  auspices  of  the  National  Academy, 
as  soon  as  a  building  could  be  provided  that  would  adequately 
house  all  exhibitions. 

Again,  the  very  conservative  authorities  of  a  large  art 
institute  listened  receptively  to  the  suggestion  that  every 
art  museum  owed  the  public  two  things  in  the  way  of 
exhibitions : 

First,  exhibitions  selected  by  juries  which  would  give  the 
public  the  benefit  of  the  best  expert  judgment  available. 

Second,  exhibitions  wherein  painters  and  sculptors  barred 
by  the  juries  would  have  opportunities  to  present  their  works 

to  the  judgment  of  the  public. 

In  short,  suggestions  that  would  not  have  been  listened 
to  before  the  International  are  now  discussed  as  quite  within 
the  range  of  possibilities. 

There  is  no  danger  of  these  things  coming  to  pass  in  the 
immediate  future;  there  is  still  too  much  latent  opposition, 
but  the  virulent  has  measurably  subsided. 

So  much  for  the  older  men. 

❖  <$>  4> 

The  younger  were  naturally  much  more  tolerant.  They 
were  more  —  they  were  both  curious  and  receptive.  Many  of 
them  searched  with  eager  eye  for  valuable  hints,  for  ways 
and  means  to  perfect  their  own  art. 


VIRILE-IMPRESSIONISM  195 

It  was  a  great  pleasure  to  watch  and  talk  with  these 
young  men,  the  rising  generation. 

Many  of  them,  to  their  own  surprise,  found  they  had  been 
working  along  modern  lines  without  fully  realizing  it. 

They  had  not  cut  loose  from  Impressionism,  but  they  were 
doing  things  constructively  rather  than  superficially ;  they 
were  painting  like  Cezanne  rather  than  Monet. 

❖  <$><$> 

If  the  attempt  were  made  to  name  these  younger  men, 
the  result  would  be  injustice  to  many  whose  works  are  un¬ 
known  to  the  writer,  and  the  argument  would  be  confused. 

To  speak,  therefore,  of  one  of  the  paintings  reproduced, 
take  the  “  Still  Life,”  by  Kroll.  In  the  decorative  arrange¬ 
ment  of  the  draperies  and  in  the  manner  in  which  the  fruit 
and  stone  jug  are  painted,  the  feeling  is  quite  Po^-Impres- 
sionistic;  while  the  glimpse  of  the  street  out  the  window 
is  purely  Impressionistic. 

That  is  to  say,  all  within  the  window  is  painted  solidly 
and  constructively,  quite  under  the  influence  of  Cezanne;  all 
that  is  without  is  painted  fleetingly  and  superficially,  more 
under  the  influence  of  Monet.  It  was  done  intentionally,  to 
secure  a  certain  effect  of  contrast;  but  the  result  is  neither 
Fm*cA-Impressionism  nor  Po^-Impressionism,  but  American- 
Impressionism  —  a  certain  eclecticism. 

The  glimpse  of  the  street  is  delightful,  but  the  arbitrarily 
arranged  interior  is  more  than  delightful;  it  possesses 
strength  of  line,  fine  color,  and  solid  masses,  done  con¬ 
structively. 

Still,  one  has  only  to  compare  this  picture  with  the  “  Still 
Life,”  by  Herbin,  and  the  “  Forest  at  Martigues,”  by  Derain, 
to  see  how  close  to  nature  it  is,  how  Impressionistic  it  is  as 
distinguished  from  the  Po.yf-Impressionistic,  or  creative,  spirit. 

Kroll  painted  what  he  felt,  controlled  by  what  he  saw. 


196  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


Derain  painted  what  he  felt,  influenced  only  slightly  by  what 
he  had  seen. 


<$>  ❖ 


<$> 


The  foregoing  illustrates  the  position  of  the  more  vigor¬ 
ous  of  the  younger  American  painters;  they  are  so  strong,  so 
virile,  so  muscular  —  let  us  say  —  that  instinctively  they  lean 
toward  the  painting  of  things  in  a  big,  broad  constructive 
manner;  the  refinements  of  superficial  impressionism  do  not 
interest  them. 

At  the  same  time  they  have  not  reached  the  point  where 
they  are  willing  to  let  go  of  nature  entirely  and  do  purely 
creative  things. 

Perhaps  this  is  just  as  well. 

America  —  like  every  new  country  —  is  so  essentially 
practical,  practical  in  even  its  most  imaginative  flights,  that 
it  is  difficult  for  its  painters  to  retire  within  themselves  and 
do  things  that  have  only  an  esoteric  or  metaphysical  relation 
to  actualities;  that  sort  of  thing  in  both  art  and  literature  is 
much  easier  on  the  continent  than  in  either  England  or 
America;  it  is  especially  easy  in  the  highly  charged  and 
hyper-artificial  atmosphere  of  Paris. 


<$><$><$> 

Purely  creative  work  is  done  in  a  masterly  manner  —  in 
his  best  things  —  by  Arthur  Davies.  It  is  attempted  and 
quite  successfully  by  Kenneth  Miller,  to  mention  only  two  of 
many. 

To  the  casual  observer  Davies  may  seem  to  lose  himself 
at  times  in  his  theories,  to  press  his  dreams  and  speculations 
beyond  the  confines  of  his  art,  but  on  this  point  the  opinion 
of  the  “casual  observer”  is  of  little  value,  for  Davies’s  pic¬ 
tures  cannot  be  casually  observed;  they  challenge  the  atten¬ 
tion  of  the  most  serious  and  repay  study.  I  make  no  pretense 
to  having  fathomed  their  mystery,  to  understanding  their 


VIRILE-IMPRESSIONISM 


197 


inner  significance,  but  enjoy  and  have  always  enjoyed  the 
marvellously  fine  way  in  which  they  are  done,  and  their  rare 
decorative  quality. 

Here  is  a  man  doing  creative  work,  work  in  which  he  plays 
with  and  uses  nature  to  attain  ends  far  above  and  far  removed 
from  nature.  He  is  in  no  sense  a  Virile-Impressionist,  no 
one  would  think  of  classing  him  as  an  Impressionist  at  all. 
Yet  he  is  not  a  Post-Impressionist  as  the  term  has  been 
defined  in  this  book. 

He  belongs  rather  to  the  class  of  inspired  or  poetic 
painters,  a  few  of  whom  are  with  us  always,  men  who  neither 
found  nor  belong  to  a  “school,”  but  who  express  on  canvas 
or  in  stone  their  fancies  in  a  way  that  reminds  one  of  fairy¬ 
tales. 

Davies  may  admire  much  of  the  work  of  some  of  the 
ultra  Post-Impressionists;  he  likes,  for  instance,  much  of 
Matisse’s  work ;  he  may  even  fancy  he  has  something  in 
common  with  these  men,  but  he  has  not.  He  was  painting 
his  pictures  long  before  theirs  were  very  much  known,  and 
he  would  have  painted  his  if  theirs  had  never  been  produced 
at  all. 

Matisse  is  moved  by  a  spirit  fundamentally  different  from 
that  which  animates  Davies. 

❖  <?><$> 

The  Bridge,”  by  Kroll,  is  another  striking  example  of 
American-Impressionistic  art.  It  is  one  of  a  series  of  pic¬ 
tures  of  lower  New  York,  each  painted  “on  the  spot,”  some 
from  roofs  and  high  places  difficult  of  access  and  dangerous. 

It  is  comparatively  easy  to  go  out  and  make  a  few 
sketches  of  portions  of  a  city  like  New  York  and  then  retire 
to  the  studio  and  paint  faint  and  superficial  reproductions, 
such  inadequate  reproductions  as  appear  on  the  walls  of  any 
metropolitan  exhibition;  it  is  quite  another  thing  to  plant 


198  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


one’s  easel  on  slippery  rocky  heights  and  day  after  day,  in 
the  cold,  paint  from  nature  as  directly  as  Monet  ever  painted 
and  in  a  much  more  virile  way. 

It  takes  imagination  and  enthusiasm  and  the  superb  con¬ 
fidence  of  youth  to  attempt  such  colossal  things,  and  it  takes 
an  unusual  technical  facility  to  “  get  away  ”  with  the  attempt. 

<s>  <e>  <e> 

Winslow  Homer’s  name  has  been  mentioned  and  men¬ 
tioned  with  the  respect  due  one  of  the  greatest  painters  this 
country  has  produced,  but  the  besetting  weakness  of  picture 
buyers  is  undue  reverence  for  the  man  who  has  “arrived,” 
above  all  for  the  master  who  is  dead. 

Better  pictures  are  being  painted  in  America  today  than 
Homer  painted,  and  he  would  be  the  first  to  say  so  if  living. 

Since  he  painted  his  best  pictures  the  art  of  painting  has 
advanced,  painters  have  improved  their  technic  and  broad¬ 
ened  their  outlook. 

There  are  pictures  being  painted  today  by  young  Amer¬ 
icans  that  will  be  worth  far  more  than  Homer’s,  and  that  is 
said  with  the  full  realization  that  no  lover  of  what  is  big  and 
strong  in  art  could  ask  for  more  virile  impressions  of  nature 
than  those  of  Homer  at  his  best. 


<$><$><$> 

When  the  Morgan  pictures  were  hanging  in  the  Metro¬ 
politan  Museum,  acclaimed  in  parrot  phrases  by  critics  and 
visited  by  multitudes,  it  was  a  delight,  a  veritable  refreshing 
of  the  soul,  to  get  away  from  the  smell  of  the  dead  into  the 
living  atmosphere  of  the  Hearn  collection  and  see  pictures 
that  belong  to  us,  to  our  own  times,  that  are  flesh  of  our  flesh, 
bone  of  our  bone. 

Every  picture  in  the  Morgan  collection  had  its  vital  rela- 


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VIRILE-IMPRESSIONISM 


199 


tion  to  life  once  —  zuhen  it  was  painted  and  where  it  was 
painted. 

Not  one  has  even  a  remote  relation  to  the  life  of  America. 
They  are  valuable,  very  valuable,  in  the  sense  that  old 
tapestries,  old  armor,  old  brocades,  old  pottery,  etc.,  etc.,  are 
valuable  —  valuable  as  illustrating  the  history  and  develop¬ 
ment  of  painting,  and  beautiful  as  many  old  things  are  beauti¬ 
ful  but  not  half  so  beautiful  as  the  living  and  breathing  things 

°f  today-  «  «.  « 


But  how  can  we  appreciate  the  beauty  of  the  things  our 
painters  and  sculptors  are  doing  when  we  are  blind  to  the 
superb,  the  magnificent  beauty  of  what  our  engineer-builders 
are  doing  —  our  steel  “sky-scrapers”  —  America’s  greatest 
achievement  and  unique  contribution  to  the  arts  —  an  abso¬ 
lutely  new  architecture?  <$><$><$> 


Though  the  artist  may  be  quick  to  disavow  all  such  inten¬ 
tion,  it  is  obvious  that  there  is  much  Post-Impressionism  in 
John  W.  Alexander’s  work. 

In  both  his  technic  and  his  inspiration  he  is  very  Post- 
Impressionistic. 

In  the  delightful  sweep  of  his  line,  and  the  purely  decora¬ 
tive  use  of  color,  he  departs  far  from  nature. 

The  attitude  of  Sargent  toward  a  model  or  sitter  and  that 
of  Alexander  are  diametrically  opposed,  the  one  seeks  to 
paint  a  vigorous  characterization  of  the  person  before  him,  the 
other  seeks  to  create  a  picture,  and  to  do  so  by  a  technic  so 
different  from  that  commonly  used  it  still  occasions  much  of 
the  wonderment  it  excited  years  ago. 

Some  of  the  portraits  by  Alexander  are  conspicuous  on 
the  walls  of  an  exhibition  for  very  much  the  same  reasons 
such  a  picture  as  Van  Rees’s  “  Maternity  ”  would  be  con¬ 
spicuous. 


200  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


The  landscape  and  cattle  piece  by  Segonzac  are  both 
examples  of  Virile-Impressionism.  But  Segonzac  has  painted 
many  other  pictures  that  are  Post-Impressionistic  —  arbitrary 
in  design  and  execution,  and  still  others  that  are  both  Virile- 
Impressionistic  and  Post-Impressionistic,  such  as  his  large 
canvas,  “  A  Pastoral,”  shown  at  the  International,  wherein 
the  cattle  are  Virile-Impressionistic  creations  while  the  nude 
figures  and  the  entire  scheme  are  purely  Post-Impressionistic. 

<$><$><$> 

The  two  landscapes  by  Vlaminck  and  Charmy  are  good 
examples  of  the  transition  state  from  Virile-Impressionism  to 
Post-Impressionism. 

They  are  sufficiently  close  to  nature  to  be  Impressionistic 
in  the  large  sense  of  the  term;  at  the  same  time  they  are  so 
arbitrary  and  decorative  in  technic  as  to  be  quite  Post- 
Impressionistic.  They  are  about  as  far  removed  from  the 
average  exhibition  of  Impressionistic  pictures  as  they  are 
from  the  creative  and  abstract  art  of  the  Cubists,  yet  they 
will  hang  with  either  without  unduly  shocking  the  spectator’s 
sense  of  the  fitness  of  things. 

<S>  <$>  <$> 

The  three  Cardoza’s  are  purely  Post-Impressionistic;  they 
are  charming  examples  of  what  might  be  called  romantic 
Post-Impressionism  as  distinguished  from  the  more  abstract 
conceptions  of  the  Cubists;  they  have  no  more  relation  to 
life  than  a  fairy  tale,  rather  less  if  anything,  for  they  are 
primarily  decorative  rather  than  significant. 

<$><$><$> 

Zak’s  “Shepherd”  is  also  Post-Impressionistic,  romantic 
in  feeling  like  Cardoza’s,  but  of  deeper  human  significance. 
The  utter  loneliness  of  the  shepherd’s  life,  the  monotony  of 
its  outlook,  the  note  of  resignation,  are  all  as  subtly  indicated 


VIRILE-IMPRESSIONISM  201 

as  are  any  of  the  human  qualities  in  Millet’s  pictures  of 
peasant  life;  yet  in  technic  and  composition  the  picture  is 
essentially  Post-Impressionistic,  a  decorative  and  musical 
work  of  the  creative  imagination.  One  would  not  be  far 
astray  in  classing  it  with  the  poetic  work  of  Arthur  Davies. 


XIII 


SCULPTURE 


I  DEVELOPMENTS  in  sculpture  do  not  always  parallel 
those  in  painting. 

In  comparison  painting  is  so  facile  that  it  lends  itself 
easily  to  experiments,  responds  quickly  to  moods  and  fancies. 
In  short,  painting  is  more  susceptible  —  more  volatile. 

Not  that  the  painter  and  the  sculptor  are  different  human 
beings,  but  the  mediums  whereby  they  express  themselves 
are  so  different,  and  the  demands  for  their  work  are  so 
unequal,  that  sculpture  usually  lags  behind  in  new  ventures. 
The  sculptor,  however  great  his  desire,  cannot  afford  to  make 
the  experiments  the  painter  makes,  or  at  the  best  he  can 
only  embody  his  new  ideas  and  aspirations  in  uninviting 
plaster  casts. 

He  is  bound  by  some  of  the  conditions  that  hamper  the 
architect,  one  of  which  is  difficulty  in  finding  a  patron  who 
will  take  the  risk  and  pay  the  expense  of  innovations. 

<$>  <$►  <$> 

The  reaction  in  sculpture  has  been  from  the  classic  along 
two  opposed  lines: 

A.  Back  to  nature. 

B.  Purely  creative. 

<$>  <$>  <S> 

The  movement  back  to  nature,  to  a  closer  observation  of 
life,  even  to  the  rendering  of  the  human  figure  with  brutal 
frankness,  is  exemplified  in  the  work  of  Matisse,  work  so 
ugly  —  to  most  people  —  it  seems  a  grotesque  caricature  of 

202 


BRANCUSI 
M’lle  Poganey 


LENDBRUCK 
Kneeling  Woman 


SCULPTURE 


203 


the  human  form,  but  the  human  form  today  is  never  so  sym¬ 
metrical,  so  perfect  as  in  classic  sculpture,  and  one  suspects 
the  Greeks  themselves  idealized  their  young  men  and 
maidens. 

Long  before  Matisse,  Rodin  started  the  “  return  to  nature.” 
His  “Age  of  Bronze,”  1877,  was  so  literal  a  transcript  it  was 
denounced  as  a  cast  from  life ;  sculptors  and  critics  refused 
to  believe  human  fingers  could  model  so  perfect  an  impres¬ 
sion.  His  “  Saint  John,”  “  Eve,”  “  Bourgeois  of  Calais,”  “  Le 
Penseur,”  “  La  Belle  Heaulmiere,”  to  mention  only  a  few, 
were  all  created  in  a  spirit  diametrically  opposed  to  the 
classic  — yet  Rodin  is  a  most  intelligent  lover  of  the  classic. 

Per  contra ,  most  of  Rodin’s  marbles  are  a  fine  mixture  of 
the  classic  and  purely  modern  —  of  the  classic  and  the 
romantic. 

The  point  here  is  that  in  some  of  his  bronzes  he  exhibits 
as  clear  and  merciless  an  observation  of  nature  as  Matisse 
or  any  other  modern.  It  may  be  said  once  for  all  that  in  the 
number  and  variety  of  things  he  does,  in  the  manner  in  which 
he  links  past  and  present,  Rodin  stands  quite  alone  among 
sculptors.  If  he  has  little  sympathy  with  the  extreme  sculp¬ 
ture  of  the  hour  it  is  because  life  is  short  and  in  his  life  time 
he  has  covered  so  vast  a  territory,  responded  to  so  many 
impulses,  ancient  and  modern,  he  is  not  unnaturally  reluctant 
to  embark  upon  new  experiments  or  interest  himself  vitally 
in  what  others  are  doing. 

<$><$><$> 

The  best  American  sculpture,  even  more  than  American 
painting,  is  solidly  virile-impressionistic,  notably  the  work 
of  such  men  as  Barnard  and  Borghlum.  Davidson  has  one 
foot  firmly  planted  within  the  confines  of  Post-Impressionism, 
but  he  has  by  no  means  cut  loose  from  the  past.  His  “  Deco¬ 
rative  Panel”  in  the  Exhibition  was  purely  post-impression- 


204  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


istic,  a  work  of  the  imagination,  while  his  figures  were  virile- 
impressionistic.  <$><$> 

It  is  only  by  comparing  the  work  of  these  new  men  with 
that  of  St.  Gaudens,  French,  MacMonies  —  to  mention  no 
others  —  that  one  begins  to  rightly  understand  what  is  meant 

by  the  “reaction  to  nature 

There  is  plenty  of  pure  observation  and  plenty  of  fine 
imagination  in  the  work  of  those  three  men,  but  there  is  also 
much  of  the  purely  classical,  and  not  one  of  them  showed  or 
shows  any  desire  to  break  with  tradition,  while  the  very 
essence  of  the  modern  movement  is  a  disregard,  conscious 
or  unconscious,  for  tradition;  in  many  of  the  new  men  there 
is  a  violent  revolt  against  the  domination  of  the  past. 

<$>  <$>  <e> 

It  is  when  we  come  to  the  work  of  Brancusi  and  Archi- 
panko  that  we  find  the  most  startling  examples  of  the 
reaction  along  purely  creative  lines. 

Nature  is  purposely  left  far  behind,  as  far  behind  as  in 
Cubist  pictures,  and  for  very  much  the  same  reasons. 

Of  Brancusi  something  has  been  said  already. 

Of  all  the  sculpture  in  the  International  Exhibition  the 
two  pieces  that  excited  the  most  ridicule  were  Brancusi’s 
egg-shaped  portrait  of  Mile.  Pogany  and  “Family  Life”  by 
Archipanko. 

Both  are  creative  works,  products  of  the  imagination,  but 
in  their  inspiration  they  are  fundamentally  different. 

<$>  3>  <$> 

In  his  symmetrical  oval  head  with  the  spiral  masses  where 
the  neck  would  be,  it  is  apparent  the  sculptor’s  interest  is  in 
the  play  of  line  and  relation  of  masses,  no  profound  human 
problem  troubled  him.  That  there  is  a  relation  between  the 
strange  shape  of  the  head  and  his  theories  of  life  and  art  no 


BOCCIONI 

Spiral  Expansion  of  Muscles  in 
Action 


MATISSE 
Portrait  Heads 


SCULPTURE  205 

serious  observer  of  his  other  work  could  doubt,  but  his 
unusual  technic  over-shadows  other  interest. 

<§>  <S>  <$> 

In  his  “  Family  Life,”  the  group  of  man,  woman,  child, 
Archipanko  deliberately  subordinated  all  thought  of  beauty 
of  form  to  an  attempt  to  realize  in  stone  the  relation  in  life 
that  is  at  the  very  basis  of  human  and  social  existence. 

Spiritual,  emotional,  and  mathematical  intellectuality,  too,  is 
behind  the  family  group  of  Archipanko.  This  group,  in  plaster, 
might  have  been  made  of  dough.  It  represents  a  featureless,  large, 
strong  male  —  one  gets  the  impression  of  strength  from  humps  and 
lumps  —  an  impression  of  a  female,  less  vivid,  and  the  vague  knowl¬ 
edge  that  a  child  is  mixed  up  in  the  general  embrace.  The  faces  are 
rather  blocky,  the  whole  group  with  arms  intertwined  —  arms  that 
end  suddenly,  no  hands,  might  be  the  sketch  of  a  sculpture  to  be. 
But  when  one  gets  an  insight  it  is  intensely  more  interesting.  It  is, 
eventually,  clear  that  in  portraying  his  idea  of  family  love  the  sculptor 
has  built  his  figures  with  pyramidal  strength;  they  are  grafted  to¬ 
gether  with  love  and  geometric  design,  their  limbs  are  bracings,  ties 
of  strength,  they  represent,  not  individuals,  but  the  structure  itself 
of  family  life.  Not  family  life  as  one  sees  it,  but  the  unseen,  the 
deep  emotional  unseen,  and  in  making  his  group  when  the  sculptor 
found  himself  verging  upon  the  seen  —  that  is,  when  he  no  longer 
felt  the  unseen  —  he  stopped.  Therefore  the  hands  were  not  essen¬ 
tial.  And  this  expression  is  made  in  the  simplest  way.  Some  will 
hoot  at  it,  but  others  will  feel  the  respect  that  is  due  one  who  sim¬ 
plifies  and  expresses  the  deep  things  of  life.  You  may  say  that  such 
is  literature  in  marble  —  well,  it  is  the  modernest  sculpture.* 

<S>  <$>  <$> 

The  group  is  so  angular,  so  Cubist,  so  ugly  according  to 
accepted  notions,  that  few  look  long  enough  to  see  what  the 
sculptor  means;  yet  strange  as  the  group  was  it  undeniably 
gave  a  powerful  impression  of  the  binding,  the  blending  char¬ 
acter  of  the  family  tie,  a  much  more  powerful  impression 
than  groups  in  conventional  academic  pose  could  give. 

*  Writer  in  “  The  Times-Democrat,”  New  Orleans. 


206  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


In  considering  the  extreme  modern  movement  in  sculpture 
it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  groups  and  figures  just  as 
strange  have  been  done  in  the  past  —  that  even  queerer  and 
more  grotesque  things  have  been  used  to  adorn  churches  and 
altars. 

True,  those  sculptures  and  carvings  are  naive  and  primi¬ 
tive,  but  may  not  the  naive  and  primitive  be  closer  to  life  and 
to  life’s  great  truths  than  the  sophisticated  and  classical? 

That  is  the  question. 

The  answer  of  the  moderns  is  that  the  swing  of  the  pen¬ 
dulum  in  art  is  from  the  naive  and  primitive  through  the 
more  and  more  conventional  to  the  fixed  and  lifeless  mold  of 
the  classic  and  academic,  then  back  again  to  the  naive,  tra¬ 
versing  the  romantic,  in  its  course,  both  ways. 


MATISSE 
Back  of  Woman 


ERBSLOH 
Young  Woman 


XIV 

IN  CONCLUSION 

O  GATHER  the  loose  ends  of  the  argument  in  one 


skein 


<$>  <$>  <$> 


Impressionism  was  the  natural,  the  inevitable  reaction 
from  the  romantic  and  story-telling  art  of  the  forties,  fifties, 
and  sixties  —  a  return  to  nature  from  the  studio,  to  works  of 
the  observation  from  works  of  the  imagination. 

Impressionism  developed  along  three  diverging  lines: 

A.  Superficial  Impressionism  —  Monet. 

B.  Realistic  Impressionism  —  Manet. 

C.  Substantial  Impressionism — Cezanne. 


<$>  <§>  <$> 


A.  Superficial  —  the  painting  of  light  effects,  the  impres¬ 
sionism  of  Monet,  culminated  in  the  extreme  refinements  of 
the  pointillists,  the  Neo-Impressionists,  Seurat  and  Signac. 

In  superficial  Impressionism  the  last  word  seems  to  have 
been  said  for  the  time  being.  Any  number  of  delightful  pic¬ 
tures —  light  effects  —  are  being  painted,  and  will  continue 
to  be  painted,  but  the  early  enthusiasm  has  largely  subsided. 

Superficial  Impressionism  leads  naturally  to  the  painting 
of  pure  color  effects  —  color  music,  orphism,  compositional 
painting.  After  the  last  word  in  the  observation  of  light 
effects  Po^-Impressionistic  attempts  to  create  pure  color 
effects,  irrespective  of  natural  —  that  is  a  logical  reaction. 

B.  Realistic  Impressionism  penetrates  a  little  deeper. 
While  Monet  and  his  followers,  Signac  and  Seurat,  dealt 
more  and  more  with  the  play  of  light  on  the  surface  of  things, 
Manet  and  his  followers  painted  closer  to  the  heart  of  things. 


207 


208  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


While  Monet  was  content  to  paint  a  hay  stack  twenty 
times  in  as  many  different  lights,  Manet  preferred  a  touch 
of  life  and  character  in  his  pictures.  While  he  was  first  and 
last  a  painter,  he  was  not  so  absorbed  in  securing  purely 
technical  effects  as  to  be  wholly  blind  to  the  human  element, 
hence  his  wonderful  portraits,  his  bullfights,  his  glimpses  of 
city  life  —  pictures  big  in  more  senses  than  one. 

Still  he  and  his  followers  were  primarily  interested  in  the 
aspect  of  things,  the  characteristics  as  distinguished  from  the 
fundamental  character  of  things.  He  penetrated  far  deeper 
than  Monet,  so  much  deeper  the  two  had  little  in  common, 
but  he  did  not  get  so  close  to  the  heart  that  he  forgot  the 
skin;  he  was  always  a  painter  of  appearances,  but  in  a  big  as 
distinguished  from  a  superficial  way. 

The  realistic  Impressionism  of  Manet  has  by  no  means 
run  its  course.  Some  of  the  finest  painting  in  the  world  has 
been  done  and  is  being  done  along  this  line.  It  is  the  line 
of  Franz  Hals  and  Velasquez;  it  is  the  line  of  men  so  differ¬ 
ent  as  Whistler  and  Sargent  in  their  best  portraits. 

The  natural  reaction  from  perfection  in  this  line  is  higher 
accentuation  of  characteristics  —  in  the  extreme  caricature. 

That  is,  given  the  last  word  in  the  painting  of  character 
by  great  men  in  a  solid  way,  the  logical  attempts  of  new  men 
or  lesser  men  will  be  the  indication  of  character  in  a  lighter 
and  more  superficial  way.  The  penetrating  observation  of 
the  older  men  gives  way  to  the  keen  and  playful  fancies  of  the 
younger.  The  same  sitter  yields  with  the  former  a  powerful 
portrait,  with  the  latter  a  fascinating  picture  which  may  be 
quite  as  revealing  both  as  a  likeness  and  as  a  characterization. 

C.  Substantial  Impressionism  is  not  so  easy  to  define  and 
differentiate.  It  is  far  from  superficial  but  has  much  in  com¬ 
mon  with  realistic. 

It  is  easiest  to  simply  say  it  is  the  Impressionism  of 


IN  CONCLUSION  209 

Cezanne  and  those  who  have  read  what  has  already  been  said 
about  Cezanne  will  understand. 

Cezanne  was  not  content  to  paint  either  the  surface  or  the 
characteristics  of  things  or  people;  he  sought  to  go  deeper,  to 
get  at  the  very  substance  and  to  place  on  canvas  their 
elemental  qualities. 

As  a  natural  result  the  longer  he  painted  the  less  inter¬ 
esting  his  pictures  became  superficially,  but  the  greater  their 
interest  fundamentally. 

While  Monet  became  more  and  more  a  popular  painter,  a 
painter  for  the  dealer  and  the  buyer,  Cezanne  became  more 
and  more  a  painter’s  painter,  doing  things  that  only  the  tech¬ 
nically  skilled  could  rightly  appreciate. 

Interested  solely  in  the  profoundest  problems  of  his  art 
and  painting  only  for  those  who  had  a  very  great  knowledge 
of  art,  he  attracted  comparatively  few  followers;  the  path  he 
followed  promised  little  in  the  way  of  immediate  fame  and 
rewards. 

Still  during  his  last  years  he  had  his  ardent  admirers  and 
after  his  death  his  simple,  strong  constructive,  elemental  pic¬ 
tures  began  to  be  widely  appreciated. 

They  make  no  pretense  to  the  superficial  charm  of  color 
or  composition  that  attracts  the  average  observer,  but  they 
fascinate  every  man  who  studies  things  long  enough  to  even 
partially  understand  what  the  artist  was  so  earnestly  trying 
to  do. 

Substantial  or  Cezanne  Impressionism  led  naturally  to  the 
Virile-Impressionism  of  today,  a  way  of  seeing  and  painting 
things  that  is  a  compound  of  the  Impressionism  of  Manet 
with  that  of  Cezanne. 

There  is  a  great  and  glorious  future  for  Virile-Impres¬ 
sionism.  Some  of  the  greatest  portraits  and  pictures  in  the 
world  will  be  painted  with  the  penetrating  vision  of  a 


210  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


Cezanne,  modified  by  the  clear,  cool  observation  of  a  Manet. 

The  logical  reaction  from  carrying  observation  of  nature 
to  the  extent  Cezanne  carried  it  is  painting  of  the  substance 
of  things  creatively,  theoretically,  as  in  Cubism. 

Cezanne  carried  the  use  of  planes  imitatively  so  far  that  it 
was  but  a  step  to  their  use  arbitrarily  and  scientifically. 

Substantial  Impressionism  leads  naturally  to  substantial 
Post-Impressionism ;  or  in  other  words,  the  substance  of 
things  painted  impressionistically  (more  or  less  imitatively) 
leads  logically  to  the  painting  of  the  substance  of  things 
creatively  =  Poj/-Impressionistically. 


APPENDIX  I 

EXHIBITIONS  AT  291  FIFTH  AVENUE 


DURING  a  number  of  years  prior  to  1913  Mr.  Alfred  Stieg- 
litz  gave  exhibitions  of  extreme  modem  work  in  his 
Small  Photo-Secession  Gallery,  291  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York, 
and  the  International  was  the  outcome,  the  logical  culmina¬ 
tion  of  these  earlier  efforts. 

Mr.  Stieglitz  prepared  the  following  chronological  nar¬ 
rative  : 

In  the  end  of  November,  1906,  “  291  ”  (“  Photo-Secession 
Gallery,”  “  Little  Gallery,”  etc.,  etc.)  was  opened  with  an  ex¬ 
hibition  of  pictorial  photography.  The  exhibition  represented 
the  best  work  of  Steichen,  Frank  Eugene,  Kasebier,  Clarence 
White,  Stieglitz,  Cobum,  Brigman,  Herbert  G.  French,  and 
about  thirty  others,  all  Americans. 

This  exhibition  was  followed  up  by  a  series  of  exhibitions 
—  usually  one-man  —  of  the  picked  work  which  had  been 
done  in  pictorial  photography  the  world  over. 

In  1907  the  first  exhibition  not  devoted  to  photography 
was  that  of  Miss  Pamela  Coleman  Smith.  This  exhibition 
created  a  sensation.  At  the  time  it  aroused  the  ire  of  most 
of  the  New  York  critics. 

Following  this  there  were  shown  Willie  Geiger’s  (Munich) 
best  etchings  and  Ex  Libris.  This  was  the  first  show  of  his 
in  America. 

But  the  real  beginning,  I  suppose,  of  the  so-called  Modern 
work  shown  at  “  291  ”  was  the  exhibition  of  about  sixty  of 
Rodin’s  choicest  drawings.  These  were  selected  by  Rodin  and 
Steichen  for  the  special  exhibition.  The  exhibition  aroused 
intense  indignation  in  New  York  amongst  the  critics  and 
amongst  most  painters  (men  like  Chase,  Alexander,  and  others 

211 


212  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


of  this  type  feeling  that  such  things  were  not  meant  for 
the  public). 

April,  1908,  Matisse  was  introduced  to  the  American  public 
for  the  first  time.  This  exhibition  of  Matisse’s  represented 
the  complete  evolution  of  Matisse  from  his  academic  period 
up  to  date.  It  included  etchings,  drawings,  water  colors, 
lithographs,  and  oil  paintings. 

January,  1909,  the  work  of  Marius  De  Zayas  was  intro¬ 
duced  for  the  first  time. 

March,  1909,  John  Marin  and  Alfred  Maurer  (the  “  new  ” 
Maurer)  were  introduced.  The  work  of  these  Americans 
seemed  to  upset  the  equilibrium  of  the  academicians  even 
more  than  the  “  jokes  ”  of  Rodin  and  Matisse. 

May,  1909,  Marsden  Hartley  was  introduced  to  the  public 
for  the  first  time. 

December,  1909,  Toulouse  Lautrec  Exhibition.  A  very 
choice  collection  of  his  lithographs.  First  Lautrec  Exhibition 
in  America. 

February,  1910,  second  Marin  Exhibition. 

March,  1910,  exhibition  of  the  work  of  “  Younger  American 
Painters  ” :  Arthur  G.  Dove,  Arthur  B.  Carles,  L.  Fellows, 
Marsden  Hartley,  Putnam  Brindley,  John  Marin,  Alfred 
Maurer,  Steichen,  Max  Weber.  This  was  the  first  collective 
exhibition  of  Modern  work  by  Americans. 

April,  1910,  second  Rodin  Exhibition.  The  very  latest 
drawings  of  Rodin  were  shown,  together  with  eleven  of  his 
earliest  ones.  At  the  same  time  the  best  small  bronze  of  the 
“  Penseur  ”  (loaned  by  Mrs.  John  W.  Simpson)  was  exhibited. 

November,  1910,  Exhibition  of  lithographs  by  Cezanne, 
Renoir,  Manet,  and  Toulouse  Lautrec.  Together  with  these, 
drawings  and  paintings  by  Henri  Rousseau,  just  deceased. 
This  exhibition  introduced  Rousseau  for  the  first  time  to 
America,  as  well  as  it  introduced  Cezanne. 


EXHIBITIONS  AT  291 


213 


January,  1911,  Exhibition  by  Max  Weber,  American. 

February,  ign,  Marin  Exhibition  (third). 

March,  ign,  a  series  of  Cezanne  water  colors.  The  first 
one-man  show  of  Cezanne’s  in  America.  These  water  colors 
were  most  carefully  selected  and  really  represent  a  side  of 
Cezanne  which  is  underestimated  by  all  those,  even  Cezanne 
lovers,  who  do  not  fully  understand  Cezanne  importance. 

April,  ign,  Picasso.  Drawings,  lithographs,  water  col¬ 
ors,  etc.  A  series  of  eighty  showing  the  complete  evolution 
of  Picasso.  The  first  introduction  of  Picasso  to  America  and 
the  first  exhibition  anywhere  of  Picasso  held  in  this  sense. 

February,  igi2,  second  Hartley  exhibition. 

February,  igi2,  first  Arthur  G.  Dove  exhibition. 

March,  igi2,  sculptures  and  latest  drawings  by  Matisse. 
First  introduction  to  America  of  Matisse,  the  sculptor. 

April,  igi2,  Exhibition  of  Children’s  \A/ork,  showing  rela¬ 
tionship  of  that  to  much  of  the  spirit  of  so-called  “  Modern  ” 
work,  first  exhibition  of  its  kind  held  in  America. 

December,  igi2,  drawings  and  paintings  by  A.  Walkowitz. 

January,  igi3,  fourth  Marin  Exhibition  —  the  now  famous 
New  York  skyscraper  series  were  shown. 

March,  igi3>  Picabia  s  New  York  work.  The  first  one- 
man  show  of  Picabia  held  in  America. 

April,  igi3,  Exhibition  of  De  Zaya’s  abstract  caricature. 
Possibly  the  most  modern  expression  of  the  human  portrait. 

Incidentally,  without  having  had  official  shows,  the  work 
of  Eli  Nadelmann  (Paris)  and  Manolo,  was  introduced  to 
America  by  examples  of  their  work  being  shown. 

Outside  of  all  these  exhibitions,  of  course,  must  be  added 
the  exhibition  of  color-photography,  first  in  America,  in  igo7, 
and  numerous  other  exhibitions,  of  important  photographic 
work. 


APPENDIX  II 


TWO  COMMENTS 

IT  is  only  fair  to  the  press  to  say  that  here  and  there,  in 
most  unexpected  places,  not  only  articles  but  editorials  ap¬ 
peared  admonishing  the  public  to  be  cautious  about  condemn¬ 
ing  the  new  art  too  impulsively. 

We  have  chosen  two  such  expressions  from  places  so  dif¬ 
ferent,  as  London,  and  Reno,  Nevada. 

Apropos  the  Russian  Ballet  and  its  extraordinary  music, 
the  London  “  Times,”  in  a  leading  editorial,  July  13,  1913, 
said: 

“We  have  entered  into  one  of  those  periods  of  artistic 
revolution  in  which  the  public,  audience,  or  spectators  become 
partisans  and  express  their  opinions  as  if  they  were  at  a  politi¬ 
cal  meeting.  The  Russian  Ballet,  for  instance,  produced  a 
conflict  of  opinion  last  Friday,  which  recalls  the  conflicts  pro¬ 
voked  by  the  plays  of  Victor  Hugo  in  the  thirties.  Post-Im¬ 
pressionism  now  is  what  the  Romantic  movement  was  then. 
To  one  party  it  means  the  end  of  all  beauty;  to  the  other  a 
new  birth  of  it.  People  no  longer  clap  or  hiss  because  they 
think  a  particular  performance  is  well  or  ill  done.  Even  in 
England,  where  the  arts  are  not  commonly  taken  very  seri¬ 
ously,  they  are  beginning  to  clap  or  hiss  on  principle,  and  to 
feel  that  they  are  making  history  when  they  do  so.  Partisans 
on  both  sides  are  probably  not  very  clear  in  their  minds  why 
they  like  Post-Impressionism  or  dislike  it;  but  the  word, 
vague  and  clumsy  as  it  is,  does  imply  to  them  a  set  of  tend¬ 
encies  by  which  all  the  arts  may  be  ruined  or  regenerated. 
It  is  not  merely  a  fashion  in  painting,  but,  like  Romanticism, 

214 


TWO  COMMENTS 


215 


a  movement  of  the  mind  which  is  trying  to  express  itself 
through  all  means  of  artistic  expression. 

“  Of  this  the  new  turn  taken  by  the  Russian  Ballet  is  a 
striking  proof;  for  no  one  can  suppose  that  the  artists  con¬ 
cerned  in  that  enterprise  are  haters  of  beauty  because  of  their 
own  incompetence  to  achieve  it.  They  have  every  material 
inducement  to  continue  delighting  the  world  with  Ballets  like 
Carnival  or  Scheherazade ;  and,  if  they  attempt  a  new  kind  of 
art,  it  must  be  because  they  are  driven  to  it  by  some  force 
in  themselves  too  powerful  to  be  withstood.  Masters  like 
M.  Nijinsky  do  not  try  dangerous  experiments  on  the  public 
for  the  mere  pleasure  of  trying  them;  and  it  is  a  little  pre¬ 
sumptuous  to  assume  that  they  are  suddenly  afflicted  by 
sheer  perversity  of  taste.  It  is  more  probable  that  they  are 
possessed  by  that  ardour  of  discovery  which  is  common  both 
to  great  artists  and  to  great  men  of  science,  indeed  to  all 
men  whose  interest  in  life  is  stronger  than  their  desire  for 
their  own  comfort. 

“  Most  people  make  the  mistake  of  thinking  that  the  devel¬ 
opment  of  an  art  consists  altogether  of  what  is  called  inven¬ 
tion  and  not  of  discovery;  and  for  that  reason  they  often 
resent  innovations  as  mere  perversities.  If  a  thing  has  been 
well  done  already  they  cannot  see  why  it  should  not  continue 
to  be  done.  But  the  artist  knows  that  he  cannot  invent  again 
what  has  been  once  invented.  He  knows,  too,  that  these  seem¬ 
ing  inventions  are  also  discoveries  of  the  possibilities  of  his 
art;  and  that  when  discovery  has  been  carried  very  far  in  one 
direction  it  cannot  be  carried  any  further.  The  history  of 
all  arts  proves  this.  After  Michel  Angelo  no  one  could  invent 
anything  fresh  in  his  manner,  because  he  had  discovered  all 
that  could  be  discovered  about  his  method  of  art.  Renais¬ 
sance  architecture  prevailed  in  Europe  because  no  new  dis¬ 
coveries  were  possible  in  Gothic. 


216  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


“  The  Romantic  movement  changed  English  poetry  when 
there  was  nothing  more  to  be  said  in  the  manner  of  Pope. 
You  may  prefer  the  old  art  to  the  new,  but  even  if  you  are 
right  in  preferring  it,  you  are  not  therefore  right  in  condemn¬ 
ing  those  who  practice  the  new  art.  For  they  have  no  alterna¬ 
tive.  Either  they  must  be  mere  imitators  of  the  great  men 
of  the  past  or  they  must  make  a  new  start;  and  the  true 
artist  can  no  more  content  himself  with  imitation  than  the 
true  philosopher  can  content  himself  with  repeating  what 
other  philosophers  have  said. 

“  Behind  all  representation  in  the  arts  there  is  the  impulse 
of  expression;  and  that  will  make  its  discoveries  wherever 
there  is  most  to  be  discovered,  turning  naturally  to  those 
elements  of  the  art  which  have  lately  been  neglected.  If 
we  understand  this  we  shall  see  that  a  new  artisitc  movement, 
such  as  Post-Impressionism,  is  not  to  be  judged  merely  by  a 
few  pictures  or  to  be  condemned  because  those  pictures  seem 
to  us  very  unlike  reality.  Whatever  may  come  of  it,  it  is 
something  that  is  happening  in  all  the  arts,  because  discovery 
is  turning  in  a  new  direction.  All  the  successes  of  the  past 
are  obstacles  to  new  success  of  the  same  kind,  and  discovery 
naturally  takes  a  line  of  least  resistance  away  from  them. 
For  a  long  time,  in  every  art,  artists  have  been  raising  expecta¬ 
tions  which  they  found  it  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  sat¬ 
isfy.  In  painting,  with  its  effort  at  complete  illusion,  they 
have  provoked  comparisons  with  Velasquez.  In  music,  with 
its  elaborate  forms,  they  must  do  as  well  as  Beethoven  if 
they  are  to  succeed.  The  dance,  as  we  are  used  to  it,  demands 
an  easy  grace  in  every  movement,  which  M.  Nijinsky  himself 
cannot  combine  with  novelties  of  expression.  He  has  found 
that,  if  he  is  to  be  a  discoverer  in  his  art,  he  must  teach  his 
public  not  to  expect  this  easy  grace,  this  formal  and  accus¬ 
tomed  beauty,  from  the  start.  And  that  is  the  purpose  of  Post- 


TWO  COMMENTS  217 

Impressionism  in  all  the  arts.  It  is  determined  not  to  arouse 
expectations  which  it  cannot  satisfy. 

“  The  public  may  begin  by  thinking  it  all  crude  and  ugly 
and  childish ;  and  it  will  be  the  more  delighted  by  any  beauties 
which  it  discovers  afterwards.  Hitherto  the  arts  have  prom¬ 
ised  more  than  they  could  possibly  perform.  Now  they  shall 
promise  nothing,  and  so  perform  at  least  more  than  they  prom¬ 
ise.  It  is  natural,  perhaps,  that  the  public  should  resent  this 
as  a  kind  of  discourtesy.  The  artist  who  makes  no  profes¬ 
sions  seems  to  them  lacking  in  respect,  and  they  are  inclined 
to  hoot  him  as  an  impudent  charlatan.  But  there  are  very 
few  artists  who  wish  to  be  hooted,  and  the  real  charlatan  usu¬ 
ally  flatters  his  public.  Whatever  may  be  said  against  Post- 
Impressionists  in  all  the  arts,  they  are  not  flatterers.” 

It  is  a  far  cry  from  London  to  Reno,  and  the  differences 
between  the  two  places  are  not  measured  by  the  miles  between 
them. 

Leading  editorial  from  the  “Journal,”  Reno,  July  n,  1913: 

SIMPLE  SOLOMON 

% 

“  When  Solomon  staked  his  reputation  for  wisdom  as  well 
as  originality  on  the  assertion  that  there  is  nothing  new  under 
the  sun,  he  did  not  think  some  day  the  Cubist  painter,  the 
Futurist  artist,  and  the  color  musician  would  rise  in  the  twen¬ 
tieth  century  and  make  him  ridiculous.  There  is  something 
new  under  the  sun  even  in  these  departures,  and  like  every¬ 
thing  original  since  the  first  sin,  the  innovations  are  now 
roundly  condemned. 

“  It  is  the  fashion  now  to  condemn  the  Cubist  and  the  Fu¬ 
turist  in  art,  even  as  not  long  ago  it  was  the  fashion  to 
condemn  the  realist,  the  impressionist  and  the  Post-Impres¬ 
sionist  ;  but  it  is  a  peculiar  tribute  to  the  authority  of  an  inno¬ 
vation  that  it  requires  such  a  general  attack  of  condemnation. 


218  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


A  trivial  thing  requires  mere  neglect;  a  war  of  condemnation 
implies  some  strong  and  virile  thing  to  be  subdued. 

“  These  new  things  have  a  substantial  basis  for  existence ; 
else  they  would  not  exist.  Their  novelty  has  caused  some 
extravagant  adherents  to  carry  them  to  unreasonable  excess. 
They  have  abused  the  discoveries,  not  used  them.  They  will 
pass  away  but  the  new  principles  will  survive. 

“  The  cubist  takes  his  cue  from  the  idea  of  perspective  it¬ 
self —  carried  to  excess.  No  one  can  imagine  anything  but 
straight  lines  as  the  basis  for  ‘vanishing  points.’  Curved 
lines,  while  apparent  and  obvious,  are  not  the  scientific  rep¬ 
resentations  of  actualities.  The  things  we  see  strike  the  eye 
on  the  basis  of  flat  images  and  our  imagination  brings  out 
shape  and  significance.  It  is  but  a  simple  reversal  to  present 
flat  art  and  give  the  imagination  equal  play  in  reconstructing 
real  images  in  the  eye. 

“  If  we  take  a  half-tone  engraving  and  examine  it  with  a 
magnifying  glass  we  find  it  is  a  series  of  holes  of  uniform 
size  but  more  or  less  dense  on  the  surface  according  to  the 
requirements  of  light,  shade  and  line.  Magnify  a  half-tone 
ioo  times  and  we  have  a  large  grating  of  black  and  white 
circles  or  squares.  That  is  cubist  art.  It  requires  a  slight 
shift  in  the  point  of  view,  a  little  development  and  stimula¬ 
tion  of  the  imagination  —  nothing  more. 

“  When  Gulliver  visited  the  Brobdingnagians  and  viewed 
the  complexions  of  their  women  at  close  range,  it  almost  made 
him  sick  —  yet  they  were  noted  beauties.  He  looked  too 
close.  When  they  looked  at  him  they  observed  no  com¬ 
plexion —  they  looked  too  far.  Yet  each  had  a  concrete 
complexion  and  the  only  trouble  was  the  point  of  view  and 
the  shock  of  comparison. 

“  The  futurists  have  a  very  novel  and,  at  this  time,  an  out¬ 
landish  art.  One  of  them  has  a  full  page  picture  used  as  an 


TWO  COMMENTS 


219 


advertisement  of  the  peculiar  sound  of  a  horn.  It  is  a  picture 
of  a  sound  that  saws  its  way  through  other  sounds.  There  is 
a  straight,  fan-like  picture  for  a  constant,  augmenting  note, 
rising  in  scale.  It  is  gray.  There  is  a  black  ellipse  for  a  loud 
varying  noise  of  fairly  regular  variation  of  note,  and  so  on. 
The  foreign  noise  of  the  horn  is  shown  as  utterly  unlike  in 
form,  intensity,  regularity  or  harmony,  any  other  sound. 

“  If  one  has  a  diagram  one  can  understand  the  futurist  art 
and,  when  one  understands,  he  approves.  The  new  arts  are 
simply  aids  to  comparison,  discrimination  and  inspiration. 
They  have  all  the  delights  of  wine-tasting  or  salad-judging  — 
and  some  salads  are  vile. 

“  The  color  musician  has  developed  only  another  exercise 
in  discrimination.  If  we  were  to  make  mathematics  of  music 
we  would  find  that  there  Is  an  exact  relation  between  the 
number  of  vibrations  of  notes  an  octave  apart ;  a  constant  re¬ 
lation  between  the  vibrations  in  the  natural  and  the  sharp; 
a  direct  ratio  between  the  vibrations  of  the  notes  in  a  chord; 
a  formula  for  harmony  and  another  for  discord.  It  is  an  in¬ 
teresting  mathematical  study,  a  science  as  well  as  an  art, 
and  it  proves  that  our  appreciation  through  the  senses  is 
based  on  natural  mathematical  sequences  and  on  well  under¬ 
stood  ratios,  seasoned  for  variety’s  sake  by  divergences  from 
type. 

“  Now  the  color  musician  has  taken  the  spectrum  and  made 
notes  out  of  it  like  the  notes  on  the  gamut.  He  has  a  color- 
scale  and  can  do  as  much  on  it  for  the  delight  of  the  eye 
as  a  musician  can  with  the  musical  scale  for  the  ear.  He 
merely  brings  out  an  extra  way  of  enjoying  distinctions  and 
of  enjoying  that  most  restful  of  enjoyable  things  —  conven¬ 
tionality.  The  certainty  and  the  satisfaction  of  the  con¬ 
ventional  is  about  the  most  assuring  thing  in  all  experience. 
There  is  no  more  steadying  feeling  in  all  the  world  than  to 


220  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


know  that  two  and  two  make  four,  and  that  c-a-t  spells  cat. 
The  more  ways  by  which  we  can  be  assured  of  the  belief 
we  hold  by  faith,  that  there  is  an  uniform,  unchanging,  all- 
pervading  rule  in  the  world,  arguing  an  individual,  master¬ 
ing  central  consciousness  and  direction,  the  happier  we  are. 

“  The  cubists  and  the  futurists  and  the  color  musicians  may 
be  faddists,  but  they  help  to  drive  out  old  Solomon’s  pes¬ 
simism.  They  help  us  to  understand  by  purely  human  ex¬ 
perience  how  it  is  that  there  may  be  some  things  which  even 
humans  cannot  understand  —  but  which  are.” 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


ENGLISH 


In  attempting  this  bibliography  of  the  modern  movement  in  art,  the  search  in 
periodical  literature  in  England,  France,  and  Germany  has  been  carried  back  no  farther 
than  1908. 

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July  9,  1913. 

Bakst,  Leon.  Art  Exhibitions.  A  Great  Designer.  Times,  June  17,  1912. 

Morning  Post,  June  18,  1912. 

Bakst,  Leon.  Exhibition.  Athenaeum,  July  6,  1912. 

Berlin  Secession.  For  short  notices  on  see  “Studio”:  LI,  p.  241;  LI,  p. 
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LV,  p.  59;  LV,  p.  249;  LVI,  p.  241. 

Cezanne.  Article  by  Maurice  Denis.  Burlington  Magazine,  XVI  Part  I,  p. 
207;  Part  II,  p.  275. 

Cezanne.  Manet  and  the  French  Impressionists.  Pissaro-Claude  Monet- 
S isley-Renoir-B erthe  Morisot-CSzanne-Guillaume.  Translated  by  J. 
E.  Crawford  Flitch.  Illustrated  with  34  etchings,  4  wood  engravings, 
and  32  reproductions  in  half-tone  No.  9  by  Theodore  Duret.  J.  B. 
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the  French,  with  illustrations.  T.  Fisher  Unwin,  1912. 

Drama  and  Art,  The  New  Spirit  in.  Huntley  Carter.  London,  Frank 
Palmer,  1912. 

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Futurists.  Spectator,  March  16,  1912; 

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view  at  the  Marlborough  Galleries,  Duke  street,  London,  1913. 
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Harrison,  Frederic.  Aischro  Latreia — The  Cult  of  the  Foul.  Nineteenth 
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Hind,  C.  Lewis.  The  Consolations  of  a  Critic.  London,  A.  and  C.  Black, 
1911. 

Hourticg,  Louis.  Art  in  France.  London,  Heinemann,  1911. 

Huneker,  James.  Promenades  of  an  Impressionist. 

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223 


224  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


London  Salon.  See  Times  July  8,  1911;  July  30,  1912,  Effects  of 
Artistic  Freedom;  July  7,  1913. 

MacColl,  D.  S.  Ugliness,  Beauty  and  Mr.  Frederic  Harrison.  Nineteenth 
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Maillol.  The  Sculpture  of  Maillol.  Roger  Fry.  Burlington  Magazine, 
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Meier-Graefe,  Alfred  Julius.  Modern  Art,  Being  a  Contribution  to  a 
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Munich  Neue  Vereinigung.  Studio,  LIII,  p.  320. 

New  English  Art  Club  Exhibition.  Spectator,  Nov.  30,  1912. 

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Post  Impressionists.  Review  of  Air.  Hind’s  Book.  Athenaeum,  July 
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Post  Impressionists.  Notes  on  the  Post  Impressionist  Painters  at  the 
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Post  Impressionists.  French  Artists  of  Today.  London,  Heinemann, 
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Post  Impressionists.  Letter  on  The  Post  Impressionists  at  the  Grafton 
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Post  Impressionists.  Athenaeum,  Jan.  7,  1911;  December,  1911. 

Post  Impressionists.  A  Year  of  Post-Impressionism.  D.  S.  MacColl. 
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Post  Impressionists.  The  Post  Impressionist  and  Others.  Yoshio 
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1912.  In-16.  Meme  opuscule  que  le  precedent  a  peu  de  chose  pres  3 
editions:  en  franqais,  en  anglais,  en  italien. 

Mellerio,  Andre.  Le  mouvement,  idealistic  en  peinture.  Paris,  H.  Floury, 
1896.  In-80,  75  p. 

Mellerio,  Andre.  L’Exposition  de  1900  et  Vimpressionisme.  Paris,  H. 
Floury,  1900.  In-80,  48  p. 

Noly,  Henry.  Tendances  nouvelles.  Enquete  sur  revolution  des  industries 
d’art.  Paris,  H.  Floury,  1896.  In-80,  204  p. 

Salmon,  Andre.  La  jeune  peinture  frangaise.  Paris,  Societe  des  Trente. 
Albert  Messein,  1910.  In-80,  124  p. 

Lors  paraitre  prochainement  du  meme  auteur: 

Salmon,  Andre.  La  jeune  sculpture  frangaise.  Paris,  Societe  des  Trente. 
Albert  Messein,  1912.  In-80. 

Signac,  Paul.  D’Eugene  Delacroix  au  neo-impressionisme.  Paris, 
Floury,  1911.  In-80,  120  p.  (nouvelle  edition)  La  iere  edition  en  1899. 

Uhde,  J.  B.  Henri  Rousseau,  (dit  Rousseau  le  Douanier)  Paris,  Eug. 
Figuiere,  1913.  In-40,  avec  reproductions. 

EN  PREPARATION. 

Morisse,  Charles.  Gauguin.  In-80.  Chez  l’editeur  H.  Floury,  Boulevard 
des  Capucines,  Paris. 


226  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


A  noter  pour  paraitre  prochainement  sous  la  direction  de  Guillaume 
Apollinaire,  a  la  librairie  Eugene  Figuiere  a  Paris,  7  rue  Corneille;  Une 
volume  sur  Cezanne,  sur  Seurat,  sur  Degas,  sur  Renois,  par  des  auteurs 
differents.  Une  volume  egalement  sur  Les  peintres  orphiques  par  Guillaume 
Apollinaire  lui-meme. 

A  noter  aussi  1’ouvrage  suivant: 

Renoir.  Album  de  quarante  reproductions  dont  4  facsimiles  en  couleur 
et  36  phototypes.  Preface  d’Octave  Mirebeau.  Texte  des  plus  notoires 
ecrivains  de  tous  les  pays.  Paris,  chez  Bernheim-Jeune,  28  boulevard 
de  la  Madeleine,  1913.  In  folio. 

ARTICLES. 

Alexandre,  Arsene.  Maurice  Denis.  Signer  Arsene  Alexandre.  In-40, 
6  pages,  5  reproductions.  L’art  et  les  artistes.  Tome  VIII,  Janvier, 
1909. 

Apollinaire,  Guillaume.  Henri  Matisse.  Signer  Guillaume  Apollinaire. 
In-80,  5  pages,  et  3  reproductions.  La  Phalange.  No.  du  15  Decembre, 
I9°7- 

Aurel.  L’Ensiegnement  d’ Emile- Antoine  Bourdelle.  Signer  Aurel.  In-80, 
14  p.  La  Phalange.  No.  du  20  Mars,  1912. 

Bertaux,  Emile.  Notes  sur  le  Greco.  I.  Les  Portraits.  II.  L’ltalienne. 
III.  Le  Byzantisme.  3  articles  dans  de  revue  de  I’art  ancicn  et 
moderne,  Annees :  1911,  Juin;  1912,  Decembre  et  1913,  Janvier.  Nom- 
breuses  reproductions  et  planches  hors  texte. 

Besson,  Georges.  Le  grand  palais  aux  bestiaux.  Signe  r  Georges  Besson. 

In-80,  5  pages.  La  Phalange.  No.  du  20  Decembre,  1912. 

Bricaut,  Jean.  Essai  sur  la  couleur.  Signer  Jean  Bricaut.  In-80, 

5  pages.  La  Phalange.  No.  du  20  Avril,  1913. 

Cornu,  Paul.  Bernard  Naudin,  dessinateur  et  graveur.  Signer  Paul 
Cornu.  Les  Cahiers  du  Centre.  40  Serie,  Mars,  1913. 

A  noter  dans  cette  meme  revue;  La  Phalange — Leon  Werth  puis  Georges 
Besson  redigent  le  mois  du  peintre  donnet  a  propos  des  differentes  expo¬ 
sitions  a  la  galerie  Bernheim-Jeune,  a  la  Galerie  Volard  et  autres,  des 
aperQus  et  des  considerations  souvent  fort  interessants  sur  le  cubisme  et  le 
neo-impressionisme  et  sur  de  nombreux  artistes  tels  que  Cezanne,  Gauguin, 
Van  Gogh,  Renois,  Cissaro,  Seurat,  etc. 

Dans  de  Mercure  de  France,  Charles  Morisse,  puis  Gustave  Kahn,  font 
le  meme  sous  la  rubrique  Art  et  art  moderne. 

Cousturier,  Lucie.  Georges  Seurat.  (1889-1891.)  Signer  Lucie 

Cousturier.  In-40,  16  pages,  15  reproductions.  Art  decoratif. 

Revue  de  l’art  ancien  et  de  la  vie  artistique  moderne.  No.  174,  20 
Juin,  1912. 

Cousturier,  Lucie.  Pierre  Bonnard.  Signer  Lucie  Cousturier.  In-40,  16 
pages,  16  reproductions.  Art  decoratif.  Revue  de  l’art  ancien  et  de  la 
vie  artistique  moderne.  No.  186,  20  Decembre,  1912. 

Cousturier,  Lucie.  Henri-Edmond  Cross.  Signe  r  Lucie  Cousturier. 
In-40,  16  pages,  15  reproductions.  Art  decoratif.  Revue  de  l’art  ancien 
et  de  la  vie  artistique  moderne.  No.  189,  Mars,  1913. 

Cousturier,  Lucie.  Maurice  Denis.  Signe  r  Lucie  Cousturier.  In-40, 
16  pages,  16  reproductions.  Art  decoratif.  Revue  de  l’art  ancien  et  de 
la  vie  artistique  moderne.  No.  191,  Mai,  1913. 

Denis,  Maurice.  Maillol.  (Aristide.)  Signer  Maurice  Denis.  In-40, 

6  p.,  5  reproductions.  L’art  et  les  artistes.  Tome  VIII,  Janvier,  1909. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


227 


Deverin,  Edouard.  Paul-Emile  Colin.  Signer  Edouard  Deverin.  In-40, 
«  pages,  7  reproductions.  Art  decoratif.  Revue  de  l’art  ancien  et  de 
la  vie  artistique  moderne.  No.  190,  Avril,  1913. 

Faure,  Elie.  Paul  Cezanne.  Signe :  Elie  Faure.  In-40,  16  pages,  17  repro¬ 
ductions  dont  1  en  couleur.  Art  decoratif.  Revue  de  Tart  ancien  et  de 
la  vie  artistique  moderne.  No.  157*  Octobre,  1911. 

Faure,  Elie.  Francisco  Iturino.  Signer  Elie  Faure.  In-40,  4  p.,  3  repro¬ 
ductions.  Art  decoratif.  Revue  de  l’art  ancien  et  de  la  vie  artistique 
moderne.  No.  178,  20  Aout,  1912. 

Godet,  Pierre.  Vincent  Van  Gogh.  Signe  r  Pierre  Godet.  In-40,  16  p.  14 
reproductions  dont  une  en  couleur.  Art  decoratif.  Revue  de  /’art 
ancien  et  de  la  vie  artisque  moderne.  No.  156,  Septembre,  1911. 

(jOdet,  Pierre  Puvis  de  Chavannes  et  la  peinture  d’aujourd'hui.  Signer 
Pierre  Godet.  In-40,  16  pages,  13  reproductions.  Art  decoratif.  Revue 
de  lart  ancien  et  de  la  vie  artistique  moderne.  No.  164,  Janvier,  1912. 

Godet,  Pierre.  Un  peintre  suisse.  Cuno  Amiet.  Signer  Pierre  Godet 
In-40,  10  pages,  11  reproductions.  Art  decoratif.  Revue  de  Tart 
ancien  et  de  la  vie  artistique  moderne.  No.  171,  5  Mai,  1912. 

Guy,  Michel.  Paul  Gauguin.  Signer  Michel  Guy.  In-40,  16  pages,  13  repro¬ 
ductions.  Art  decoratif.  Revue  de  l’art  ancien  et  de  la  vie  artistique 
moderne.  No.  151,  Avril,  1911.  M 

Guy  Michel.  Les  Fauves.  Signer  Michel  Guy.  In-89,  9  pages.  La 
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Guy,  Michel,  van  Gogh.  Signe :  Michel  Guy.  In-80.  La  Phalange 
No.  du  15,  Fevrier,  1908. 

Henri,  Frantz.  La  Collection  Henri  Rouart.  Signer  Henri  Frantz. 
In-40,  31  pages  et  32  reproductions.  Art  decoratif.  Revue  de  l’art 
ancien  et  de  la  vie  artistique  moderne.  No.  185,  5  Decembre,  1912. 
Lontient  de  nombreux  apenjus  sur  des  oeuvres  des  peintres  impression- 
lstes  tels  que  Cezanne,  Renoir,  Monet,  Degois,  etc. 

Laenen,  Jean.  Jacob  Smits.  Signer  Jean  Laenen.  In-40,  9  pages,  8  repro¬ 
ductions.  Art  decoratif.  Revue  de  l’art  ancien  et  de  la  vie  artistique 
moderne.  No.  121,  Octobre,  1908. 

Marval,  Jacqueline,  Les  danseurs  de  Flandrin.  Signer  Jacqueline 
Marval. .  In-40,  12  pages,  12  reproductions.  Art  decoratif.  Revue  de 
1  art  ancien  et  de  la  vie  artistique  moderne.  No.  190,  Avril,  1913. 

Mauclain,  Camille.  Gaston  Crunier.  Signer  Camille  Mauclain.  In-40, 
12  pages,  14  reproductions  et  1  planche  en  couleur  hors  texte.  Art 
decoratif.  Revue  de  l’art  ancien  et  de  la  vie  artistique  moderne.  No 
I39>  Avril,  1910. 

Meier-Graefe,  J.  Greco  peintre  baroque.  Signer  J.  Meier-Graefe.  Trav. 
de  1  allemand  par  Pierre  Godet.  In-40,  36  pages,  35  reproductions.  Art 
decoratif.  Revue  de  l’art  ancien  et  de  la  vie  artistique  moderne.  No 
182,  20  Octobre,  1912. 

Ritter,  William.  Frank  Brangwyn.  Signer  William  Ritter.  In-40, 
14  p.,  14  reproductions.  L’art  decoratif,  revue  de  l’art  ancien  et  de  la 
vie  artistique  moderne.  No.  144,  Septembre,  1910. 

Riviere,  Jacques.  Coussin  et  la  peinture  contemporaine.  Signer  Jacques 
Riviere.  In-40,  16  pages,  14  reproductions.  Art  decoratif.  Revue  de 
1  art  ancien  et  de  la  vie  artistique  moderne.  No.  167,  Mars,  1912. 

Salmon,  Andr£.  Odilon  Redon.  Signe :  Andre  Salmon.  In-40,  16  pages, 

16  reproductions.  Art  decoratif.  Revue  de  l’art  ancien  et  de  la  vie 
artistique  moderne.  No.  187,  Janvier,  1913. 


228  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


Salmon,  Andre.  Marie  Laurencin.  Signe:  Andre  Salmon.  In-40,  6 
pages,  et  6  reproductions.  Art  decoratif.  Revue  de  l’art  ancien  et  de 
la  vie  artistique  moderne.  Nos.  194-198,  Aout-Septembre,  1913. 

Tougendhold,  Jacques.  Borissoff  Moussatoff.  Signe:  Jacques  Tougend- 
hold.  In-40,  12  pages,  13  reproductions.  Art  decoratif.  Revue  de  l’art 
ancien  et  de  la  vie  artistique  moderne.  No.  188,  Fevriler,  1913. 

Vauxcelles,  Louis.  A  propos  des  bois  sculptes  de  Paul  Gauguin.  In-160, 
2  pages,  3  reproductions.  Art  decoratif.  Revue  de  l’art  ancien  et  de  la 
vie  artistique  moderne.  No.  148,  Janvier,  1911. 

Werth,  Leon.  Aristide  Maillol.  Signe:  Leon  Werth.  In-40,  16  pages, 
16  reproductions.  Art  decoratif.  Revue  de  l’art  ancien  et  de  la  vie 
artistique  moderne.  No.  188,  Fevrier,  1913. 


GERMAN 

Acht  Jahre  Secession  v.  Ludwig  Hevesi,  Wien  1906.  The  Post-Impression¬ 
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Aus  der  Correspondenz,  Kunst  u.  Kiinstler,  II.  p.  264,  417,  462,  493.  1904. 

Aus  der  Correspondenz,  Kunst  u.  Kiinstler,  III,  p.  39-40,  86,  120,  169,  214- 
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Ausstellung  b.  Cassirer  von  H.  Rosenhagen,  Kunst  fur  Alle,  XIX.  p.  401- 
403,  1913-14- 

Ausstellung  der  Kubisten  in  dem  Moderne  Kunstkring,  zu  Amsterdam,  p. 
137-140,  Kunstchr,  XXIII. 

Ausstellung  in  Berlin,  Kunstchr,  09.  XX.  p.  238. 

Ausstellung  in  Koln  v.  G.  E.  Liithgen,  Deutsche  Kunst  u.  Dekoration, 
XXXII.  p.  179-182. 

Ausstellung  in  Miinchen,  Kunst  fur  Alle,  XXVI.  p.  21-22,  1910-11. 

Biermann,  Georg,  Bernhard  Hoetger,  ein  deutscher  Bildauer  der  Gegen- 
wart,  Miinchen,  H.  Goltz,  1914. 

Briefe  von  E.  Schur,  Kunst  fiir  Alle,  08,  XXIII.  p.  562-670. 

Cato,  Die  Schweizer  Abteilung  der  internationalen  Kunstausstellung 
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Der  Blaue  Reiter  von  Hans  Titeze,  Kunst  fiir  Alle,  XXVII.  p.  543-5S°* 

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230  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


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Jacob,  Saint  Natorel,  illustrated  with  water  colors  by  Pablo  Picasso,  Paris, 
1911. 

Kampf,  Im-um  die  Kunst,  Reply  to  the  “Protest  by  German  Artists,” 
Miinchen,  R.  Piper  &  Co.,  1911;  8°. 

Kandinsky  iiber  das  Geistige  in  der  Kunst,  Miinchen  1912,  Verlag  Piper 
&  Co. 

Kandinsky,  Ueber  das  Geistige  in  der  Kunst,  insbesondere  in  der  Malerei, 
Miinchen,  R.  Piper  &  Co.,  1912;  8°. 

Katalog  der  Sonderausstellung  v.  V.  van  Gogh,  Amsterdam,  Stadt.  Museum 

1905. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 


231 

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v.  Meyer  Reifstahl,  Burlington  Magazine,  XVIII.  p.  91-99.  155-162. 


232  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


Van  Gogh,  Vine.,  Briefe.  Deutsch  von  N.  Mauthner,  Berlin,  P.  Cassirer, 
1911;  4th  ed. ;  with  15  drawings;  8°. 

Vincent  Van  Gogh,  Munchen,  1910,  R.  Piper  &  Co. ;  4th-6th  ed.,  1912. 

Vmcent  Van  Gogh  u.  Gauguin  zum  Klassizismus,  Kunst  u.  Kunstler,  09, 
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Vincent  Van  Gogh  von  Julius  Meier-Graefe,  Munchen  1910 

Vom  Wertdes  Neo-Impressionismus  von  A.  L.  Plehn,  Kunst  fur  Alle 
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Von  P.  Gauguin,  Kunst  u.  Kunstler,  VIII.  p.  579-586 

Von  Paul  Gauguin,  Kunst  u.  Kiinstler,  VIII.  p.  579-586.  1910. 

Was  1st  uns  lmpressiomstische  Malerei  von  A.  Gold,  Deutschland,  III.  p. 
320-342.  1 

Weese,  Arth.,  Ferdinand  Hodler,  Berlin,  1910;  Francke 
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psychology,  Munchen,  Piper,  1911;  3d  ed. ;  8°. 

Zum  Klassizismus  von  Maurice  Denis,  Kunst  u.  Kunstler,  VIII.  p.  86-101, 


ARTICLES. 

Alt,  Theod.,  Hodler  und  seine  Zeitgenossen,  Der  Thtirmer  XV  IQI2-I3 
p.  626-37.  >  y  o» 

Apollinaire,  Guill.,  Realite,  peinture  pure,  Der  Sturm,  1902,  No.  138-39. 
Apollinaire,  Guill.,  Die  moderne  Malerei.  Uebersetzt  von  Jean  Jacques, 
Der  Sturm,  1903,  No.  148-49. 

Avenarius,  Von  Van  Gogh,  ICunstwart,  XXIV,  1910,  I  p  56-59 
Avenarius,  Ferd,  Futuristen,  Kunstwart,  XXV,  1912,  III,  p.  278-81. 
.Beckmann  b  rz^  Gedanken  uber  zeitgemasse  und  unzeitgemasse  Kunst. 
d,A  Wto  Die  neue  Malerei,  by  Frz.  Marc.,  Pan,  II,  1,  p.  499-502. 
Bahne,  Adolf  Der  Maler  Franz  Marc,  Pan,  III,  1913,  p.  616-1K 
Render,  Ewald,  Deutsche  Kunst  um  1913,  Zeitschrift  fur  bildende  Kunst, 
new  series  24,  1912-13,  p.  287,302,  with  1  illustration. 

Bender,  Ewald  F.  A.  Weinzheimer,  Zeitschrift  f.  bildende  Kunst,  new 
series  XXIV,  1912-13,  p.  305-8,  with  illustrations. 

Benkard,  Ernst  A.,  Ferdinand  Hodler,  Zur  Hodlerausstellung  im  Frank- 
iurter  Kunstverein,  Zeitschrift  f.  bildende  Kunst,  new  series  XXIII 
1911-12,  p.  7-12,  with  illustrations. 

Bermger,  Jos.  Aug.,  Deutsche  Kunstnote,  Siiddeutsche  Monatshefte  XI, 
1913-14,  p.  198-208.  ’  * 

Bernard,  Emile,  Erinnerungen  an  Paul  Cezanne,  Kunst  und  Kunstler,  vol. 

VI,  1908,  p.  421,  475,  521,  with  illustration. 

Biermann,  Hans  Georg,  Bernhard  Hoetger,  Kunst  f.  Alle,  XXVIII,  1912-13, 
P-  3«5-96,  with  illustrations.  * 

Breuer,  Robert,  Max  Pechstein,  Deutsche  Kunst  u.  Dekoration,  XXIX, 
.1911-12,  p.  423-36,  with  illustrations. 

Corinth  Lovis,  Die  neueste  Malerei,  Pan,  II,  1910-11,  p.  432-7. 

Denis,  Maurice  Von  Gauguin  und  Van  Gogh  zum  Klassizismus,  Kunst  u. 
n  .Kunstler,  Berlm,  VIII,  1910,  p.  86-101,  with  illustrations. 

Denis,  Maurice,  Edmund  Cross,  Kunst  u.  Kunstler,  Berlin,  IX,  1910-n 

P.  294-0.  9 


233 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

DenT*™S:xVI,%3,ep.  S™3o"SChen  Und  der  Allermoderns.en,  Der 

DreXYSfvA1TbnV/TaUl  Cdzanne>  Zejtschrift  f.  bildende  Kunst,  new  series 
T?-  i  »/’  P-.  1 97 -206,  with  lllustr. 

Jiisler,_  Max,  Die  personlichen  Erinnerungen  N.  B.  Mendes  da  Costa’s  an 

ST  Gogh’ Kunst  und  Kunst,er- X’1911" 

FeC' De“tsche  Kunst  «• 

Fortlage,  Arnold,  Die  international  Ausstellung  des  Sonderbundes 
Cicerone  IV,  1912,  p  547-56,  with  illustrations;  Kunst  f  Alle  XXVIIl’ 
1912-13,  p.  84-93,  with  illustrations.  ’  AAVm> 

wifh  ito™rdt,ioG„es°rg  Mi"”e'  Ku,,st  f-  Alk’  XXVItI-  p.  347-53, 

FneCicSe,  V^.fTXT  VO"  MaX  PechStein-  w!th  “'mirations, 

Frielr|ch-  Hans,  Eine  Analyse  des  Futurismus,  Janus  (Miinchen)  II  1 

1912-13  p.  173-7.  Die  Hinrichtung  Paul  Cezanne’s  durch  Max  Beck¬ 
mann,  Janus,  II,  1,  1912-13;  p.  362-4. 

Futimsten  jind  Genossen  bei  der  Arbeit,  Kunstwelt,  II,  1912-13;  vol.  1, 

Gauguin  Paul,  Vincent  Van  Gogh,  Kunst  u.  Kunstler,  Berlin,  VIII  1910- 
P-  579^86,  with  6  illustrations.  ’  ’  yMJ’ 

Hausenstein,  AVilh.,  Vom  Kubismus,  Der  Sturm,  IV,  1913;  p.  I7o-7i 
Albert  Weisgerber,  Zeit  im  Bilde,  XI,  1913;  p.  2641-7;  with  illustra- 
B<^s‘  fY?!1  der  neuen  Kunst  Zum  Sommerschau  von  1913  im  Kunst- 

Mustradons.  “  Munchen’  Zeit  im  Blld,  XI>  W3;  P-  2185-92;  with 

H°nde^PmpfesiSn!smePrXX°See  Sjf 10mk  de  rart  aCtud’  La  k'on 

neuen  Makrd-  Kunst  «• 

pn|nsfe  Hir!^rproPesS^VpleSreSturm^%i3’UNIos.  129 1  ''1IUStrated' 

Kandinsky  Malerei  als  reine  Kunst,  Der  Sturm,  1913;  Nos  178-9 
K  C1274?77d'’  Futuristen»  Deutsche  Kunst  u.  Dekoration,  XXX?,  ?9i2;  p. 

KUhtnrat^dfr"  EdUard  Mundt>  Zdt  im  Bild>  XI’  1903 ;  p-  2999-3003;  illus- 

cariglnesTwe  la  pei?Tture  contemporaine  et  sa  valeur  repre- 
sentant,  Der  Sturm,  IV,  1913;  Nos.  172-73. 

Marten,  Lu.,  Vincent  Van  Gogh,  Die  Grenzboten,  72,  1913,  I,  p  237-4-? 
Manifest  der  Futuristen,  Der  Sturm,  1912,  No.  103'  37  43* 

Marc,  Franz,  Die  neue  Malerei,  Pan  II,  1,  1911-12;  p  468-71 
Die  konstrucktiven  Ideen  der  neuen  Malerei,  Pan,  p  527-31  * 
Anti-Beckmann,  Pan,  p.  555-6.  7  3 

Markus,  S.,  Die  Kunst  der  Zukunft,  Kunst  fur  Alle,  XXVIII  1912-13 
p.  541-8 ;  illustrated.  ’  y 

Meyer-Riefstahl,  Rud.,  Paul  Gauguin,  Deutsche  Kunst  und  Dekoration 
XXVII,  1910-11;  p.  109-16;  illustrated. 

Michel,  Wilh.,  Albert  Weisgerber,  Deutsche  Kunst  und  Dekoration  XXIX 
1911-12;  p.  295-96;  illustrated.  ’  ’ 

°sborn  Max,  Bernhard  Hoetger,  V.  Collective  Exhibition  of  Modern  Art 
by  Hans  Goltz,  Munich,  1913 ;  with  many  illustrations. 


234  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


Pechstein,  Max,  Was  ist  mit  dem  Picasso?,  Pan,  II,  I,  1912;  p.  665-9. 

Riviere,  Jacques,  Gauguin,  translated  from  the  French  by  Jean  Jacques, 
Der  Sturm,  1912;  Nos.  134-5. 

Rote,  M.  K.,  Pablo  Picasso,  Kunst  fur  Alle,  XXVIII,  1912-13;  p.  377-83; 
illustrated. 

Bernhard  Hoetger,  Der  Cicerone,  V.  1913;  p.  197-203;  illustrated. 

Bewegungen  in  der  neuen  Kunst  und  ihre  Aussichten,  Kunst  fur  Alle, 
XXVIII,  1912-13;  p.  292-305;  illustrated. 

Rovere,  Jean,  Paul  Cezanne;  Erinnerungen,  Kunst  und  Kiinstler,  X,  1911- 
12;  p.  477-86;  illustrated. 

Salmon,  Andre,  La  jeune  peinture  franqais,  Paris,  1912. 

Sch.,  K.  E.,  Kubisten  und  Nazarener,  Kunstchronik,  new  series,  XXIV, 
1912-13;  p.  1 13-4. 

Schaefer,  W.,  Bernhard  Hoetger,  Die  Rheinlande,  XVII,  1909;  p.  13-14; 
illustrated. 

Die  junge  und  die  jiingste  Malerei.  (Glossen  zur  Sonderbund-Ausstellung 
in  Koln.)  Vincent  Van  Gogh;  Cezanne;  Der  blaue  Reiter,  Deutsche 
Monatshefte,  Diisseldorf,  XII,  1912;  p.  284-317-355. 

Schmidt,  Max,  Finke,  Igc.,  Weiss,  Konr.,  Eine  Ausstellung  des  Sonder- 
bundes  (at  Diisseldorf),  Hochland,  XIII,  1,  1910-11;  p.  245  and  516-17. 

Schmidt,  Paul  Ferd.,  Ueber  die  Expressionisten,  Deutsche  Monatshefte, 
XI,  1911;  p.  427-9. 

Die  internationale  Ausstellung  des  Sonderbundes  in  Koln  1912,  Zeitschrift 
fiir  bildende  Kunst,  new  series  XXIII,  1911-12;  p.  229-38;  illustrated. 

Schoenlank,  M.  R.,  Brief  an  Pechstein,  Pan,  II,  2,  1912;  p.  738-9. 

Schulze,  Otto,  Bildhauer  Bernhard  Hoetger,  Deutsche  Kunst  und  Dekora- 
tion,  XXVII,  1910-11;  p.  116-23;  illustrated. 

Storck,  Willy  F.,  Ausstellung  des  deutschen  Kiinstlerbundes  in  Mannheim 
1913,  Deutsche  Kunst  und  Dekoration,  XXVII,  1913-14;  p.  9-27; 
illustrated. 

St.  K,  Die  Zukiinftler,  Der  Tiirmer,  XIV,  1912,  II;  p.  422-4. 

Terentius,  Gott  schiitz’  die  Kunst  Ein  Faschingskapitel,  Die  Kunstwelt, 
I,  1912;  p.  353-60;  illustrated. 

Warstat,  W.,  Die  Futuristen,  Die  Grenzboten,  71,  1912,  III ;  p.  210-18. 

Walser,  Rob.,  Zu  der  Arleserin  von  Van  Gogh,  Kunst  und  Kiinstler,  X, 
1911-12;  p.  442-5. 

Werth,  Leon,  Aristide  Maissol,  Kunst  fiir  Alle,  XXVI,  1910-11;  p.  276-82; 
illustrated. 

Zukunft,  Die,  der  deutschen  Kunst.  Eine  Umfrage,  Die  Kunstwelt,  vol.  3 
(1913),  first  issue;  p.  19-33.  Contains  the  answers  given  by  German 
artists  and  other  well  known  personages  to  the  following  questions 
put  to  them  by  the  editor  of  the  Kunstwelt: 

1.  How  are  you  impressed  by  the  creations  of  the  latest  schools 
of  art — the  primitivists,  the  cubists,  the  futurists,  the  expressionists? 

2.  Do  you  believe  that  in  these  directions  or  in  one  of  them  the 
future  of  German  art  must  be  looked  for? 

REPRODUCTIONS  OF  FUTURIST  AND  CUBIST  PAINTERS — PORTFOLIOS: 

Cezanne  Mappe;  Miinchen;  R.  Piper  &  Co.,  1912;  15  reprod. 

Ehrenstein,  A.,  Tubutsch.  12  drawings  by  O.  Kokoschka.  Wien;Jokoda& 
Siegel,  1911. 

Engert,  Seven  Drawings;  H.  P.  S.  Bachmann,  1913;  8°. 

Gauguin  Mappe,  Miinchen;  Piper,  1913.  15  reproductions. 


235 


BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Genin,  Robert,  Figurliche  Kompositionen ;  20  original  drawings  on  stone. 

Munchen,  Delphm  Verlag,  1912.  6 

Hodlermappe,  Munchen;  Piper.  1913. 

Kandinsky  Album,  1901-1913;  80  full  page  reproductions  of  paintings  by 
Kandinsky  with  text  written  by  himself.  Berlin,  Verlag  der  Sturm, 
1914. 

Kokoschka,  Oskar,  Dramen  und  Bilder.  Leipzig,  Kurt  Wolff,  1913. 
Kokoschka,  Oskar,  20  drawings.  Berlin,  Verlag  der  Sturm,  1913. 
Kemhardt,  Sig.,  Simson;  43  pen  and  ink  sketches.  Munchen,  1913. 
bchwalbach,  Karl,  10  original  lithographic  drawings.  Munchen,  Delphin 

Senna,  rs  original  lithographic  drawings  by  the  artists’  association  Senna 
Munchen,  Delphin  Verlag,  1912. 

Van  Gogh  Mappe,  Munchen;  Piper,  1912. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Academic  attitude,  61 
Advertising,  art  of,  171-172 
Age  and  new  experiments,  66 
Alexander  and  Sargent,  199;  Van 
Rees,  199;  post-impressionistic, 
199. 

America  and  virile  Impressionism, 
191 ;  new  movement  in  48 ;  what 
is  happening  in,  191 
Americans,  as  dreamers,  192 
Anderson,  1 
Apollinaire,  67,  81 
Arrangements,  14 
Arteries,  sclerosis  of,  62 
Archipanko,  204;  his  Family  Life, 
205 

Architecture,  skyscrapers,  199 
Art,  archaic  and  primitive,  78;  atti¬ 
tude  of  observer  and  producer, 
87;  attitude  of  observer,  127;  con¬ 
flict  between  old  and  new,  156; 
continuous,  no;  creative,  30; 
creative  work  by  certain  Amer¬ 
icans,  196-197;  criticism,  profes¬ 
sional,  9-10;  currents  in,  33;  dec¬ 
orative,  correspondence  regarding 
cubist  pictures,  50-52;  definition 
of,  87-88;  expression  of  inner 
self,  1 12;  extravagances  in,  34; 
evolution  of  new  movement,  n; 
gains  from  controversy,  58,  59; 
in  offices,  161 ;  is  cubism  art?  86- 
87;  its  relation  to  life,  198-199; 
jargon,  9-10;  laws  of,  106;  mod¬ 
ern  expression  of  inner  self,  11; 
modern  pictures  in  newspaper 
office,  160;  movement  from  studio 
to  nature  and  back  again,  14,  15; 
movements  from  perfections  to 
imperfections,  9;  movements  of 
recent  years,  60;  movements  in, 
8;  new  movement  a  spiritual  of¬ 
fering,  1 15;  new  movements  in 
relation  to  origin  of  art,  III ;  new 
movements  profoundly  interest¬ 
ing,  108;  objective,  90;  on  the 
horseblock,  7;  part  played  by  sub¬ 


ject,  159;  philosophy  of  move¬ 
ments  in,  20;  private  galleries 
graveyards  of,  160;  revolution  in, 
3;  ridicule  of  great  men  by  their 
own  generations,  8;  sign  of  life 
is  flux,  60;  subjective,  90;  thrives 
on  controversy,  1 ;  ugliness  in 
new  pictures,  154;  works  of  ob¬ 
servation  and  works  of  imagina¬ 
tion,  14-15. 

Barbizon  school  and  later  develop¬ 
ments,  11-12;  imaginative,  30;  its 
method,  15 
Barnard,  203 

“Bathsheba,”  record  of  sales,  6,  7 
Baum,  hi 

Beautiful,  our  notions  of  the,  155- 
156  (see  also  Ugliness) 

Bechtejeff,  47,  in 
Bell,  Mrs.,  48 
Bellows,  1 

Berlin,  new  movement  in,  47 
Bernard,  36,  43 

Blaue  Reiters,  organization  of,  112 
Blue  Riders,  55 

Boccioni,  179;  exhibition  in  Paris, 
184-185 

Borghlum,  203 
Borgmeyer,  21 
Bossi,  in 

Bourget,  Paul,  style  obsolete,  170 
Bracque,  47,  112 

Brancusi,  182,  204;  article  on  his 
sculpture,  183;  “Sleeping  Muse,” 
182-183 
Bloch,  1 15 

Books  in  French  and  German,  107 
Breton,  protest  against  Cubist  pic¬ 
tures,  51 
Brinley,  I 

Browning  clubs,  108 
Browning,  ridicule  of,  60 
Burljuk,  47,  1 12 

Cardoza,  200 
Carter,  64 


240  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


Cezanne  and  Cubism,  43,  81 ;  and 
Gauguin,  42;  leaders  of  Post- 
Impressionism,  28;  a  painter’s 
painter,  209;  and  substance  of 
things,  35 ;  a  substantial  Impres¬ 
sionist,  208-210;  and  the  Im¬ 
pressionists,  35 ;  career  of,  36 ; 
compared  with  Monet,  195 ; 
method  of  work,  36-37;  scientific 
theories,  43 
Chabaud  and  Millet,  15 
Charmy,  200 

Chicago  Tribune ,  article  on  London 
Exhibition,  55 

Chicago  Symphony  Orchestra,  9 
Chilton-Brock,  30,  31,  40 
Chinanpin,  147-149 
Chinese  art,  blue  hair,  151 ;  esora¬ 
goto,  147 

Chinese  painting,  30 ;  four  warnings, 
153;  perspective  in,  78;  principles 
of,  147-149 

Cinematograph,  secret  of  popularity, 
170-171 

Civilization,  material  and  spiritual, 
144 

Clarke,  1 

Color,  compositions  of,  91 ;  effects 
in  theater,  142- 143;  harmonies,  12, 
95.  146;  in  offices,  162;  music, 
140-146  (see  Music)  ;  notes  of  in 
still  lifes,  145 

Colors  used  arbitrarily,  151-152; 
used  constructively,  37-38,  42 ; 
used  decoratively,  93,  144-5;  used 
imitatively,  93,  146 
Color  waves,  143 
Columbian  Exposition,  1,  3 
Compenetration  of  planes  in  Futur¬ 
ism,  185-186 
Compositionalists,  13 
Compositional  painting,  124-128;  no 
radical  departure,  137 
Conservative  and  radical  tendencies 
in  exhibitions,  57,  58 
Convictions,  the  courage  of,  7-8 
Corot,  ridiculed  in  France,  8 
Courbet  and  followers,  n-12,  17 
Cramer,  49 
Creative  art,  30 
Critic,  the  ideal  art  critic,  134 
Criticism  of  great  masters,  155-156; 
rage  against  great  painters,  11, 


12;  two  comments,  214-220;  vio¬ 
lent,  61 

Cubism,  and  broad  technic,  80;  and 
Futurism,  173-174;  and  geomet¬ 
rical  figures,  80-81 ;  a  misleading 
term,  82;  and  sincerity,  158;  and 
the  substance  of  things,  98;  atti¬ 
tude  of  observer,  32;  derivation 
of  name,  67;  development  and  ex¬ 
hibitions  of,  67-68;  drawings  by 
first  year  art  students,  73;  effect 
on  American  art,  109;  explanation 
of  by  Picabia,  95-98;  explained 
by  music,  106;  Gleizes  and  Metz- 
inger’s  book,  103;  is  it  art?  86- 
87;  its  technical  side,  72;  largely 
esoragoto,  158;  no  object  to  help 
out  picture,  159;  not  a  plea  for, 
65  ;  “Nude  Descending  the  Stairs,” 
164;  one  form  of  prevailing  reac¬ 
tion,  31;  significance  of  new 
movement,  66;  the  different  ten¬ 
dencies  described,  68-70;  the  ele¬ 
mental  in,  78;  the  theory  of,  90; 
transparency  of  objects,  180-182; 
two  extremes,  69;  what  is  it?  60; 
when  a  puzzle,  69;  will  pass  away, 
67 

Cubists,  American,  48;  and  El 
Greco,  no;  and  certain  American 
painters,  60;  child-like  faith  of, 
109;  esoragoto,  147;  free  to  ex¬ 
press  themselves  in  their  own 
way,  103- 1 07;  getting  away  from 
cubes  and  angles,  82-83;  impres¬ 
sion  of  New  York,  96-97;  in  busi¬ 
ness  or  profession,  62;  more 
favorably  considered,  55,  56; 

mostly  young  men,  108-109; 
named  by  Matisse,  22 ;  nothing 
strange  in  their  theories,  63;  pro¬ 
test  against  pictures,  50;  quota¬ 
tion  from  Plato,  102;  see  nothing 
in  Futurism,  59;  too  serious,  158; 
understanding  them,  83-85 

Dabo,  1 

Dasburg,  49 

Davidson,  1,  203 

Davies,  1,  201 ;  a  creative  painter, 
196 

Decoration  and  pictures,  159;  of 
offices,  162-163 

Delauney,  47 


INDEX 


241 


Denissow,  47 

Derain,  28,  47,  112;  “Forest  at  Mar- 
tigues,”  69 
DeZayas,  98 
Dove,  48 

Drawing,  modern  men  are  masters 
of,  130 

Dresden,  new  movement  in,  47 
DuBois,  1 

Duchamp,  “Chess  Players,”  68,  71; 
“King  and  Queen,”  70,  71 ;  “Nude 
Descending  the  Stairs,”  164 
Dufy,  47 

Durand-Ruel,  22,  23,  24 
Durer,  elemental  lines  in  human 
figure,  73-77 
Duret,  12,  21 

Emotions,  painting  of,  n,  92,  102; 
sclerosis  of,  62 

England,  new  movement  in,  47-48 
Erbsloh,  in 

Esoragoto,  147-153;  all  great  paint¬ 
ings  are,  150 
Etchells,  48 

Exhibitions  at  291  Fifth  Ave.,  21 1- 
213;  by  Impressionists,  21-26;  in¬ 
dependent,  194;  Morgan,  pictures 
m  Metropolitan  Museum,  198-199 
Extremists  in  art,  2-3 

Fauvism,  what  it  means,  47 
Ferguson,  47 
Ferment  of  new  ideas,  4 
Fiction,  future  development  of,  171 
Fischer,  38,  72,  112 
Freedom  to  express  one’s  self,  io'<- 
107 

French,  204 
Friesz,  28,  47 

Fry,  Roger,  48,  116;  article  on 
Brancusi,  183 
Fry,  S.  E.,  1 

Futurism,  164-189;  development  of, 
165;  exhibition  of  sculpture,  184- 
185;  first  exhibition  in  London, 
175 manifestoes  of,  165-180; 
manifestoes  not  to  be  accepted  too 
literally,  188-189;  pictures  and 
theories  extreme,  166;  sculpture, 
182-186;  theory  of,  165;  theory  of 
literature,  167-172;  theory  of 
sculpture,  185-186;  transparency 
of  objects,  176-179,  180-182 


Futurists,  and  reaction,  32;  patriot¬ 
ism  of,  189-196;  see  nothing  in 
Cubism,  59 

Gauguin,  37;  a  dreamer,  42;  and 
Strindberg,  41-42;  career,  40-42 
Genin,  47 
Gill,  48 

Girieud,  47,  hi 
Glackens,  1 

Gleizes  and  Metzinger’s  book,  103 
Gleizes,  “Man  on  the  Balcony,”  70 
Gore,  48 
Grant,  48 

Graveyards  of  art,  private  galleries 
as,  160 

Great  artist,  quality  of,  26,  27 
Greek  painting,  portraits,  113 
Greek  sculpture,  painted,  152 
Grieg,  106-107 

Haller,  112 

Hearn  collection  in  Metropolitan 
Museum,  198-199 
Hegel,  philosophy  of  art,  20 
Henri,  1 ;  a  virile  Impressionist,  193 
Hoetger,  112 
Hofer,  in 

Hokusai,  terra  cotta  horse,  152 
Homer,  a  virile  Impressionist,  192; 
absorbed  his  subjects,  149;  his 
technic,  79;  work  compared  with 
recent  pictures,  198 

Ideals,  demand  for,  31 
Ideas,  accepting  ready  made,  64 
Imagination  and  observation  in  art, 
14-15 

Impressionism  (see  Virile  Impres¬ 
sionism) ;  American,  193;  and 
Monet,  34;  definition  of  term,  28; 
different  forms  of,  195-196; 
growth  of,  19 ;  of  Les  Fauves,  33 ; 
method  of,  16;  realistic,  and  the 
great  portrait  painters,  208;  real¬ 
istic  leads  to,  207-208;  substantial 
leads  to,  208-210;  substantial, 
leads  to  Post-Impressionism,  210; 
summing  up  of,  207;  superficial 
leads  to,  207 

Impressions,  reaction  to,  62-63 
Impressionists,  11;  and  Futurists, 
we  all  are  at  times,  62;  derivation 
of  name,  21 ;  early  exhibitions  of, 
21-26 


242  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


Impressionist  pictures  bought  by 
Chicago  woman,  27 
International  Exhibition,  1,  3,  4,  26; 
coincided  with  other  upheavals  in 
life,  65;  effect  of  on  society,  7; 
indignation  of  older  men,  194; 
no  Futurist  pictures,  164;  plenty 
of  ugly  pictures  in,  157;  younger 
men  curious,  194-195 

Jakulof,  47 

James,  Henry,  style  obsolete,  168 
Japanese  art  esoragoto,  147;  paint¬ 
ing  bamboo  forest,  150;  sumi,  150; 
perspective  in,  78;  principles  of, 
147- 149 

Jargon  in  art  and  other  departments 
of  thought,  10 
Jawlensky,  47,  no,  III,  113 
Johnson,  49 

Journal,  Reno,  Nevada,  editorial 
from,  217 

Kahler,  112 
Kanabe,  47 

Kandinsky,  in,  112;  and  Turner, 
29;  article  in  “Der  Blaue  Reiter,” 
I3I-I35J  estimate  by  other  artists, 
138,  139;  extreme  in  theories  and 
work,  115;  his  improvisations, 

1 16;  his  pictures  in  London  ex¬ 
hibition,  116;  his  writings,  107; 
Improvisations,  124-128;  letters 
from,  124-128;  personal  letter  re¬ 
garding  his  development,  135-137 ; 
praised  by  a  critic,  116-117;  spirit¬ 
ual  values  and  necessities,  133- 
135;  qualifications  and  theories, 
117-128 
Kanoldt,  in 
Kantsch,  47 
Koga,  in,  114 
Kramer,  1 

Kroll,  a  virile  Impressionist,  195, 
196 

Kuhn,  1 
Kuznezoff,  47 

Lempua,  letter  from,  50 
Larionoff,  47 
Laurencin,  47 

Laughing  at  what  is  strange,  63 
Laughter  at  the  pictures,  7-8 
Laurvik,  86 


Lawson,  1 
Lee,  49 

Le  Fauconnier,  in 
LeFitz  Simons,  20 
Lehmbruck,  182 
Les  Fauves,  33,  37 
Lewis,  47,  48 
Lewis,  48 
Lie,  1 

Life  and  rhythm,  8 
Life,  romantic  and  realistic  periods 
of,  18-19 

Light,  painting  of,  n 
Light,  waves,  143 

Literature,  objectionable  books,  i=;7 
Lloyd,  George,  62 
London,  Allied  Artists’  Exhibition, 
183 ;  first  exhibition  of  Futurism, 
1 75 

Luks,  1 

MacMonies,  204 

Manet,  a  realistic  Impressionist, 
207-210;  and  followers,  n-12; 
studio  painter,  17 
Marc,  112,  115 
Marinetti,  165 
Marquet,  47 
Maschkoff,  47 

Materialism  and  idealism,  18-19 
Matisse,  28,  37;  career  of,  43-47; 
element  of  ugliness  in,  157;  in¬ 
evitable  after  Bouguereau,  157; 
“Madras  Rouge,”  113;  sculpture, 
202;  theories  of,  44-47 
McFee,  49 
McRae,  1 

Metropolitan  Museum,  26 
Metzinger,  47 

Millet,  a  subject  painter,  14;  and 
Chabaud,  15;  and  others  ridiculed 
by  Paris,  8;  manner  of  working, 
16 

Miller,  Kenneth,  a  creative  painter, 
196 

Mogilewsky,  112 

Monet,  a  superficial  Impressionist, 
207-210;  and  painting  of  light,  29; 
and  surface  of  things,  35 
Morgan  Exhibition  in  Metropolitan 
Museum,  198-199 

Mourey,  protest  against  Cubist  pic¬ 
tures,  52 


INDEX 


243 


Movements  in  art,  8,  19;  never  de¬ 
void  of  force,  53;  new  in  music, 
drama,  etc.,  30-31 
Munich,  atmosphere  of  compared 
with  that  of  Paris,  hi;  new 
movement  in,  47 ;  Secessionists, 
55;  the  new  art  in,  no 
Miinter,  in,  112,  114 
Miither,  16 

Music  and  painting,  development  of, 
92-94 

Music,  changes  of  appreciations  in, 
9;  Chinese,  128-129;  color  organ, 
140-146;  Greek,  128-129;  imita¬ 
tive,  106-107;  in  color,  140-146;  of 
Schoenberg,  9;  Oriental,  128-129; 
Russian  Ballet,  9;  sound  waves, 
143 ;  understood  in  different  ways 
by  different  hearers,  84-85;  used 
to  explain,  106-107 
Myers,  1 

Nankivell,  1 

National  Academy  in  New  York 
conservative,  57 
Nature  is  living  spirit,  134 
Neo-Cubists,  67 

Neo-Impressionists,  13;  logical  out¬ 
come  of  Impressionism,  27 
New  and  strange,  average  man  be¬ 
wildered  by,  153 
New  ideas  and  work,  5 
Newspaper,  pictures  in  editorial 
room  of,  160 

New  York,  impressions  by  a  Cubist, 
96-97 

Nieder,  112 
Nocturnes,  14 

Objects  flow  through  one  another 
(see  chapter  on  Cubism) 
Objective  art,  90 

Observation  and  imagination  in  art, 
I4-I5 

Offices,  decoration  of,  162;  pictures 
in,  161 

Official  exhibitions  and  independent, 
value  of,  57 
Old  and  new  men,  4,  5 
Old  masters  and  the  new  art,  no 
Old  masters,  works  belong  to  pub¬ 
lic,  6 

Opera  not  understood,  83-84 
Orphists,  60;  theory  of,  90-91 
Organ,  for  color  music,  140-146 


Pach,  1 

Painters  like  inventors,  19-20 
Painting,  a  terrible  problem,  2;  and 
music,  development  of,  92-94;  and 
sculpture  compared,  187-188;  in 
France,  19th  century,  12 
Paris  compared  with  Munich,  in 
Peploe,  47 

Perfections  of  Impressionism  to  im¬ 
perfections  of  Post-Impression¬ 
ism,  9 

Perfection  unattainable,  1 
Periods  in  work  of  artist,  20 
Photo-Secession  Gallery,  1 
Picabia,  calls  Cubism  a  misnomer, 
82;  comparison  made  by,  91-92; 
“Dance  at  the  Spring,”  68;  ex¬ 
planation  of  abstract  painting,  95- 
97;  impressions  of  New  York,  96- 
97 

Picasso,  47,  112;  changes  in  style, 
67;  his  development,  100-101 ;  his 
theory,  98-100;  “Woman  and  the 
Pot  of  Mustard,”  68;  “Woman 
with  a  Mandolin,”  123 
Pictures,  easel,  144 
Planes,  as  used  by  Picasso,  101 ; 
drawing  in,  73-78;  illustrated  in 
modelling  and  orange,  80 
Plato,  quotation  from,  102 
Pointillists,  28 
Porter,  1 

Portrait  painting  and  cubism,  159; 
and  the  modistes,  95 ;  the  average, 
159 

Post-Cubists,  67 

Post-Impressionism,  11;  aim  of,  30; 
and  reaction,  30;  fundamentally 
different  from  Impressionism,  27, 
28;  what  it  means,  11;  Exhibition 
in  London,  55 
Prendergast,  1 

Prices,  absurd  for  old  masters,  6-7; 
of  famous  Impressionist  pictures, 
22-26 

Private  buyer,  his  opportunity,  6 
Progressive  Political  Convention,  4 
Progressive  Political  Party,  66 
Protest,  a  futile,  50 
Public  instinctively  feels,  158 
Public,  normal  attitude  toward  new 
pictures,  156 


244  CUBISTS  AND  POST-IMPRESSIONISM 


Reaction  in  art,  2 
Realism  and  Courbet,  12 
Redon,  47 

Rembrandt,  sale  of  “Bathsheba,” 
6-7;  overpriced,  60 
Resilient,  men  who  are,  62 
Revolutionary  movements,  interest 
in,  66 

Ridicule,  of  famous  Impressionists, 
22-26;  of  the  strange,  65;  which 
greeted  great  masters,  21 
Rimington,  140-146 
Rodin,  35,  182;  attitude  towards 
sculpture,  203 ;  his  Balzac  purely 
Post-Impressionistic,  79;  his  tech¬ 
nic,  79 
Rohland,  49 
Romanticism,  12 

Royal  Academy  in  London  conserv¬ 
ative,  57 
Rousseau,  37 
Rouault,  1 12 

Russia,  new  movement  in,  47 
Russian  Ballet,  9 
Ruskin,  opinion  of  Wagner,  61 
Russolo,  179 
Rutter,  3,  28,  42 

Sacharoff,  in 
Salmon,  43 

Salon  d’Automne,  54;  exhibition 
1912,  50 

Salon  des  Refuses,  n 
Salon  d’Independants,  plan  of,  56 
Salons  grow  conservative,  57 
Sargent,  a  virile  Impressionist,  193; 
and  Alexander,  199;  and  Whist¬ 
ler,  193;  his  technic,  79;  tired  of 
portrait  painting,  102 
Sarjan,  47 
Schalowsky,  47 
Schereczowa,  47 
Schnabel,  in 

Schools,  effect  of,  137,  138 
Sculpture,  202-205;  (see  Futurism)  ; 
American,  203-204 ;  compared 
with  painting,  187-188;  creative 
works,  204-205 ;  developments  in, 
202-203;  Futurist  (see  Futurism)  ; 
Greek,  203 ;  Matisse,  202 ;  observa¬ 
tion  and  imagination  in,  204; 
painted,  152 ;  primitive  element  in, 
206;  Rodin,  203;  spiritual  element 


in,  205;  work  of  Brancusi  and 
Archipanko,  204 
Secessionists,  Munich,  55 
Segonzac,  200 
Seguin,  42 

Shaw,  Bernard,  a  reactionary,  170 
Skyscrapers,  199 
Sloan,  1 

Societe  des  Artistes  Francais,  53-54 
Societe  des  Artistes  Independents, 
54,  , 

Societe  Nationale  des  Beaux- Arts, 
53-54 

Sound  waves,  143 
Sousa  Cardoza,  85 
St.  Gaudens,  204 

Stieglitz,  1,  1 16;  his  exhibitions, 
211-213 

Still  lifes,  94,  145 
Story-telling  pictures,  14 
Strauss  and  other  composers,  9 
Strindberg  and  Gauguin,  41-42 
Striving  as  an  element  of  vitality,  89 
Studios,  art  and  nature  art,  14; 

mostly  ugly,  95 
Subjective  art,  90 
Subjects  in  painting,  13-14 
Substance  of  things  difficult  to  paint, 
98 

Sudbinin,  112 
Symphonies,  14 
Synchronists,  60 

Taste,  attitude  of  public  normal, 
156;  change  in  public  taste,  55-56; 
changes  from  decade  to  decade, 
155-156 
Taylor,  1 

Theater,  Cubists,  Futurists,  etc.,  in, 
64;  color  effects  in,  142-143;  fu¬ 
ture  development  of  play,  170-171 
Things,  painting  of,  11 
Times,  London,  editorial  from,  214 
Times  ripe  for  a  change  in  art,  9 
Tolerance,  a  plea  for,  65 
Tribune,  Chicago,  article  on  London 
Exhibition,  55 
Tucker,  1 

Turner  and  light  effects,  28;  fore¬ 
runner  of  Impressionism,  13;  his 
strange  pictures,  29;  ridiculed  in 
England,  8 


INDEX 


245 


Ugliness,  154-163;  a  matter  of  taste, 
154-156 ;  and  superb  technic,  156; 
a  realism,  158;  a  touchstone  for 
taste,  157;  great  masters  thought 
ugly,  155-156;  in  sculpture,  205- 
206;  Matisse,  157 

Van  Dongen,  47,  112 
Van  Gogh,  37;  letters  of,  40 
Verhoeven,  47 

Virile  Impressionism,  191-201 ;  glori¬ 
ous  future  for,  209-210;  material 
and  practical,  192;  outcome  of 
substantial  Impressionism,  209- 
210 

Visual  music,  117 
Vitality,  a  new  art,  154 
Vlaminck,  47,  112,  200 

Wagner  and  Ruskin,  61 ;  Ruskin’s 
ridicule,  60 


Werefkin,  47,  hi,  114 

Whistler,  4,  n;  as  a  Post-Impres¬ 
sionist,  18;  as  an  Impressionist, 
18;  and  Sargent  and  realistic  Im¬ 
pressionism,  208;  compared  with 
Sargent,  193;  forerunner  of  Post- 
Impressionism,  13 ;  his  literal 
moods,  17;  master  of  technic,  14; 
on  level  with  Chinese  masters, 
103;  suit  against  Ruskin,  13 

Whitman,  ridicule  of,  60 

Wittenstein,  in 

Young,  1 

Youth,  and  new  experiments,  66; 
radicalisms  of,  61 

Zak,  200 

Zorach,  49 


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